Harry Potter and the Unicorn Guild
by JoAnna47
Summary: A surprise birthday party, peculiar behavior from Aunt Petunia, a new DADA teacher with a grudge against Slytherin House, a Weasley wedding, more trips into the Forbidden Forest, and yet another prophecy are just a few of Harry's sixth-year adventures.
1. Default Chapter

**Chapter 1:  O.W.L.s and Offerings**

A light rain fell softly as dawn broke upon the quiet houses on Privet Drive.  The upper stories of numbers one, two, and three were dark and quiet, but a faint glimmer of light shone from the upper bedroom window of number four.  

The small bedroom did not look like a normal teenager's.  For one thing, there were several shelves bolted to the wall that held an assortment of old, dusty, and broken toys, games, and other gadgets, as well as grimy books that had never been opened.  The rest of the bedroom's contents were not old and dusty, but rather odd for the typical Little Whinging resident – but that was because the inhabitant of the room was _not_ a typical Little Whinging resident.  

In one corner, there was a large wire cage where a snow-white owl, just returned from a night's hunting, slept with her head under her wing.  A large trunk, emblazoned with the initials HP, stood in the opposite corner.  Black robes and assorted books were tossed haphazardly inside.  A nearby desk was littered with crumpled bits of parchment, quills, and an ink bottle.   The bed, a rather lumpy, uncomfortable affair, was in the centre of the room and currently occupied by a thin teenager, a bit short for his age, who had his nose buried in a book. 

Harry Potter, just barely sixteen, was sprawled on a bed, reading a battered, worn copy of _Quidditch__ Through the Ages_ with the aid of a flashlight.  He had a head of untidy coal-black hair, jade-green eyes behind a pair of round, black-rimmed glasses, and a scar shaped like a lightening bolt on his forehead.  

With a yawn, he closed his book, turned off his flashlight, and squinted at the clock on top of the battered dresser.  It was 6:05 on the morning of his birthday.  He was sixteen years old on this cold, wet, gloomy day.

_Not that anyone here will notice_, he thought resignedly.  He knew the day would pass without comment from the Dursleys, unlike their own son's birthday.  Dudley's sixteenth birthday had occurred at the beginning of the summer, soon after Harry's return to Privet Drive, and Harry had been forced to stay up in his room listening to the sounds of the party below.  Not that he would have wanted to attend any party for Dudley – the only thing worse than having to interact with Dudley was having to interact with Dudley's friends.  Harry would say that Dudley's friends had the collective I.Q. of a broomstick, but that statement would be a gross insult to his Firebolt (_I hope it's still okay at Hogwarts_, Harry thought with longing; for all he knew, Umbridge had ordered it destroyed, though he was hopeful he'd get it back once he returned to Hogwarts in September).  However, he didn't enjoy being cooped up any more than he had to be.

4 Privet Drive seemed more oppressive and stifling than usual this summer.  It wasn't the Dursleys – while they weren't treating him with anything approaching respect, they at least seemed to tolerate his presence in their house.  Harry liked to think that it was the threats from Mad-Eye Moody that had effected this change, but strangely enough the catalyst for this odd behaviour seemed to be, of all people, Aunt Petunia.

It had started on the day they had picked him up from the London station when he'd gotten off the Hogwarts Express.  The car ride to 4 Privet Drive had been oddly silent, with none of Uncle Vernon's usual sneers at the wizarding world or Dudley's surreptitious punches.

Harry had not spoken to any of them either; he was thankful to be left alone with his own thoughts, dreary as they were.  Upon arriving at the house he'd hauled his trunk upstairs and collapsed on his bed, staring moodily out the window.

About fifteen minutes later, there'd been a timid knock at his door.  "Er – come in?" Harry said, surprised.  None of the Dursleys had _ever_ knocked politely before; usually they pounded angrily on the door or just barged in.

To his greater surprise, Aunt Petunia had stepped inside.  He'd been too astonished to speak, so he'd just stared at her.  She had looked at the floor, the ceiling, the window – anywhere but at him.  

After a few minutes of silence, she'd cleared her throat.  "I was just wondering if you were hungry," she'd muttered, her gaze fixed on her shoes.

His jaw had dropped.  "W-what?"  he stammered.

She'd shifted uncomfortably, glancing nervously over her shoulder.  As far as Harry had known, no one else was home; Uncle Vernon had gone on to a golf date with some of his co-workers from Grunnings and Dudley had allegedly gone to tea at the Polkiss house.  "I know it's a long train ride from H – that school of yours.  If you're hungry, I – I can make you something."

Harry had just blinked; he'd been sure that this was a trick or a colossal practical joke.  "I ate on the train," he'd said.  "Er – thanks for offering, though."

She'd nodded once, quickly, and then scuttled out of the room.  Harry had pinched himself to make sure he wasn't hallucinating or dreaming.  To his knowledge, this was the first time Aunt Petunia had ever offered to do anything for him.  As for offering food, the Dursleys had always reminded him in no uncertain terms that the food he put in his ungrateful stomach was provided out of the goodness of their hearts.  And they'd expected him to live on carrot sticks and grapefruit wedges – with no complaint – in the summer after his third year.  So why had Aunt Petunia had this sudden change of heart?

It wasn't with Uncle Vernon's knowledge, he was sure.  And somehow he doubted it was due to Mad-Eye Moody or any of the other Order of the Phoenix wizards who had instructed the Dursleys to treat Harry well that summer.  If this sudden offer had been the result of their threats, Aunt Petunia would have offered the food with a bitter, resentful air, but that hadn't been the case.  She'd seemed nervous, but not angry or sulky, as she would likely be had the offer not been genuine.

Similar events had taken place during the ensuing weeks.  Aunt Petunia no longer fussed at him because of his hair, or because he tracked in mud, or any of the other myriad complaints she'd usually directed at Harry in the summers.  During mealtimes she never "forgot" to serve him as she often had before, and didn't make a peep if he dared to take seconds.  Uncle Vernon still turned purple, but he didn't say a word except to occasionally mutter, "That crazy-eyed bloke can't say you're not well fed, at least."  

Dudley also seemed subdued this summer, perhaps because he remembered the consequences of the last time he'd baited Harry.  Harry still wondered what Dudley had relived in the presence of the Dementors – the prat had been spoiled rotten his entire life; surely he couldn't have many bad memories.  Yet Dudley had been white and shaking after the Dementor attack and had said he'd heard "terrible things."  At the time, Harry had thought he was merely reliving the trauma of opening the jelly doughnut box only to find it empty.  

Uncle Vernon was his usual unpleasant self, but for the most part he left Harry alone.  And Harry was only too happy to be left alone.

It had been a difficult summer, knowing that Sirius was gone (Harry couldn't bring himself to say or even think the world _dead_) because of his, Harry's, reckless actions.  He remembered with longing the days when he could sleep peacefully through the night, with no vivid nightmares to interrupt his sleep or wake him in the early morning hours with sweat on his brow and terror in his throat.  All of his nightmares centered on the same scene – Sirius being hit with Bellatrix Lestrage's Cruciatus Curse and falling through the veil.  Harry running after Bellatrix, firing his own Cruciatus Curse at her.  Her mocking laughter, the appearance of Voldemort, the invasion of his body as Voldemort possessed him and taunted Dumbledore.  

His scar throbbed every morning due to his nightmares, giving him a headache that took a few hours to go away.  Harry found that the headache receded faster if he found something to occupy him, which is why he was up so early reading _Quidditch__ Through the Ages_.  The nightmare hadn't given him a birthday reprieve, as he'd awakened at 5:00am with an aching head.

Harry walked over to his window and pushed it up, breathing in the cool, misty morning air. The clouds hung low over the sleepy Little Whinging neighborhood, bringing rain that was a welcome respite from the blistering heat of the day before.  His stuffy little bedroom was actually cool and comfortable for a change.  He leaned his still-aching head against the cool windowpane, allowing the cold rain to splash against his face.  He thought of his last birthday, and the letter he'd gotten from Sirius, and soon the droplets on his face were intermingled with his silent tears of grief.   

He was still wracked with grief and sorrow about Sirius' death, but he'd finally stopped blaming himself after getting letter upon letter from Order members, urging him to not feel guilty.  "_I am sure that Voldemort, devious and cunning as he is, would have found another way to lure you to the Ministry of Magic even if you had been practicing Occlumency_," Dumbledore had written.  "_As I said to you at Hogwarts that night, I regret the part I played in this tragedy.  Had I been truthful with you from the first, Sirius would not be dead_.

_However, when all is said and done, Bellatrix Lestrage and, subsequently, Voldemort are to blame.  They, not you or me, are ultimately responsible for Sirius' death_." 

Remus Lupin, Tonks, and Arthur Weasley had also written, assuring him that Sirius himself would not have blamed Harry.  "_He knew the danger he was going into, Harry_," Lupin wrote.  "_He knew there was a chance he might not return and he chose to take that risk.  He died bravely, and in the manner he would have chosen.  _

_Something else to think about – he's with James and Lily now, and I'm sure that Prongs and Padfoot are causing as much trouble up there as they ever did on Earth.  Sirius, I think, is finally at peace_."  

Harry doubted that the pain of losing Sirius would ever fully go away, but he knew that agonizing over what had happened in the Department of Mysteries was what Voldemort wanted.  He wanted Harry to be blindly grief-stricken, wanted Harry to forget himself and go looking for Voldemort.  Harry refused to play into another of Voldemort's traps – he would learn Occlumency, he would learn to control his emotions, and someday he would avenge Sirius and his parents.  That was his all-encompassing goal.  

As he stared into the distance, he became aware of three black dots against the distant grey sky.  They looked vaguely familiar, and as they came closer he recognized the distinctive swoop of owls.

Harry backed up as three owls swooped into his bedroom, each dropping an envelope onto his bed, and alighted on top of Hedwig's cage.  Hedwig hooted sleepily in welcome. Harry fed them some owl treats and picked up his letters.

The first envelope bore the untidy scrawl of Harry's best mate, Ron.  The second had the precise, neat handwriting of his other best friend, Hermione.  And the third – Harry recognized the heavy cream stationary and distinctive green ink of an official Hogwarts letter.  Sure enough, the letter was sealed with the Hogwarts crest.

The Hogwarts letter seemed much thicker than usual – with a start, Harry remembered what McGonagall had told the class – they'd be sent O.W.L. results in July, and it looked like they'd finally arrived.  Eagerly, he ripped the letter open.

***

**_Harry Potter_**

**_The Smallest Bedroom_**

**_4 Privet Drive_**

**_Little Whinging, Surrey_**

****

**_Dear Mr. Potter,_**

****

**_Enclosed please find the results of your Ordinary Wizarding Levels (O.W.L.s) as reported to Hogwarts by the Wizarding Examination Authority.  Also enclosed is a sign-up sheet for N.E.W.T. level courses; you need to fill out the enclosed form and return it to Hogwarts no later than August 15th.  Please note that N.E.W.T. courses have the prerequisite of an "A" O.W.L. or higher._**

****

**_Please owl Griselda Marchbanks of the Wizarding Examination Authority, Ministry of Magic, with any questions regarding O.W.L. scores; owl Professor Minerva McGonagall with any questions regarding N.E.W.T. courses.  _**

**_Sincerely,_**

**_Minerva McGonagall_**

_Deputy Headmistress_

_Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

**O.W.L. Results for Potter, Harry James**

Passing Scores

**O** = _Outstanding_

**E** = _Exceeds Expectations_

**A** = _Acceptable_

Failing Scores

**P** = _Poor_

**D** = _Dreadful_

**T** = _Terrible (Troll)_

**Ancient Runes **– N/A 

**Arithmancy**– N/A

**Astronomy**

Theory: E

Practical: P

Overall: **A***

**Care of Magical Creatures**

Practical: O

Overall: **O**

**Charms**

Theory: E

Practical: E

Overall: **E**

**Defense Against the Dark Arts**

Theory: O

Practical: O

Overall: **O**_(P.O.S.T. Mark)_ **

**Divination**

Practical Only—Overall: **P**

**Herbology******

Practical: E

Overall: **E**

**History of Magic**

Theory Only—Overall: **P**

**Muggle**** Studies **– N/A****

**Potions **

Theory: E

Practical: O

Overall: **O**

**Transfiguration**

Theory: E

Practical: O

Overall: **O**

**Total Exams: = 9**

**Total O.W.L.s = 7**

***Overall scores have been adjusted by O.W.L. examiners due to the outrageous disturbance during the practical Astronomy exam.**

****P.O.S.T. Mark:  Perfectly Outstanding Score for Test **

*******

Harry felt a warm glow inside as he gazed at his O.W.L. results.  Seven O.W.L.s – he'd gotten the O.W.L.s he needed to take his Auror N.E.W.T. classes, even Potions!   And he'd even passed D.A.D.A. with distinction, thanks to his experience with the Defense Association.  He'd never heard of a P.O.S.T. Mark before, though he was sure Hermione had received as many P.O.S.T.s as she had O.W.L.s.

Grinning, he reached for Ron's letter.

_Harry,_

_Did you get your O.W.L. scores, mate?  I got 8 O.W.L.s – not as many as Percy or Bill, but more than Fred and George combined!  (Charlie got 8, too.)  Mum and Dad are pretty proud.  I passed everything but Divination (big surprise there). Dunno how I got an A in History of Magic – pure luck, I guess.  I got Es in everything else except for Potions (an O – the exam was a picnic without Snape breathing down my neck) and DADA (no thanks to Umbridge, and loads of thanks to you, mate).   _

_Not bad, eh?  I'm signing up for all the Auror N.E.W.T. classes, of course.  Too bad they couldn't get someone who's not a great ugly git to teach potions, but I can put up with Snape for two more years if it means getting accepted into Auror training.   _

_Have you heard from Dumbledore this summer?  Will he let you come and stay?  Mum hasn't said anything except for "We'll have to see what Dumbledore says."  I'm sure the Dursleys are driving you bonkers by now._

_You won't get your birthday present 'til I can give it to you in person – it's too big to send with Errol; he'd die of exhaustion before he flew out of the kitchen._

_Let me know, and hope to see you soon –_

_Ron_

Harry smiled.  Good for Ron – he was smarter than he gave himself credit for.    They'd be able to take all their Auror classes together, too.  He laid down Ron's letter and picked up Hermione's. 

_Dear Harry,_

_Did you get your O.W.L. scores_?  (Harry had to grin at this; it was rare that Ron sounded exactly like Hermione – and vice versa.)_ I did pretty well, all things considered --twelve O.W.L.s.  I'm amazed I got an E in Astronomy; I wasn't hoping for more than an A after what happened that night.  There was a note saying that the scores had been adjusted, though, so I'm glad the examiners took the circumstances into account when calculating the scores._

_I got Os in everything else (including DADA, thanks to you and the DA).  I also got P.O.S.T. (Perfectly Outstanding Score for Test)Marks in Charms and Transfiguration.  I still haven't decided about a career path; I'm leaning towards Auror but I'm not sure yet.  I think I'll sign up for the Auror classes just to be safe; after all, the required Auror classes are also base classes for many other professions.  I can always change my mind.  _

_I haven't heard from Ron about you going to the Burrow; I really hope you'll be able to leave the Dursley's house soon.  Well, if you can't go, maybe we can meet in Diagon Alley again to get our school supplies?  Let me know._

_Love from_

_Hermione_

_P.S.  I didn't forget your birthday; I'm waiting with your gift until I see you in person.  Here's hoping it'll be soon, and happy birthday in the meantime!_

Harry propped Ron and Hermione's letters on his dresser and investigated the contents of his Hogwarts letter.  Besides the N.E.W.T. sign-up sheet, he found his booklist and a letter from Professor Dumbledore.

_Harry,_

_Molly Weasley, Mr. (Ron) Weasley and Miss Granger have pelted me with owls the last few weeks, wondering if you will be paying a visit to the Burrow this summer.  _

_I wish I could give them, and you, an affirmative response.  However, I think it is best that you remain at 4 Privet Drive this summer for the reasons we discussed before you left Hogwarts.  You are safer there than anywhere else (excepting Hogwarts), and it's best that you remain there while the Order of the Phoenix finds new headquarters.  12 Grimmauld Place has, unfortunately, been passed to Narcissa Malfoy, Sirius' closest relative_.  (Harry felt a pang of grim resignation at this; he'd been previously told that the house would go to Narcissa per wizarding law, but the Order had hoped Dumbledore could find a loophole in the law.)

_If the Order finds new headquarters before the beginning of the school year or should other circumstances arise (such as another Dementor attack), I shall certainly send for you.  _

_Once again, I apologize that you must remain in your current unsympathetic environment.  Please set an old man's mind at ease by remaining where you'll be safest._

_Sincerely,_

_Albus__ Dumbledore_

_Headmaster, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

_P.S.  I must extend my congratulations on your remarkable O.W.L. scores.  You are the first Hogwarts student to receive an O.W.L. P.O.S.T. mark in Defense Against the Dark Arts since Tom Riddle (I received one as well when I was your age – ah, memories!).  The O.W.L. examiners were very much impressed with your performance.  Congratulations once again on a job well done._

_P.P.S.  A very happy birthday to you.  Remus Lupin and the other Order members send along wishes for a happy birthday as well._

Harry's happy mood dissolved instantly.  Though the Dursleys weren't as unbearable this summer, he'd been looking forward to getting out of here.  It was frustrating, knowing Voldemort was on the loose but unable to _do _anything to help in the fight against him.  He sighed, knowing that he would respect Dumbledore's wishes.  He didn't dare complain or try to escape, not after the events of last June.   Dumbledore was right; he was safest with the Dursleys.  

He flopped onto his bed with a pad of parchment, scribbling replies to Ron and Hermione with his own O.W.L. scores.  He gave them to Hedwig and said, "You can wait until it stops raining to deliver these, if you want."  She hooted appreciatively and he stroked her snowy-white head, glad that one friend was with him on his birthday.

***

As soon as he heard Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon's voices in the kitchen (a high, nasal voice and a low, booming voice, respectively), he went downstairs for breakfast.

"Morning," he said to the Uncle Vernon and Dudley, who were sitting at the table.  Uncle Vernon grunted noncommittally and Dudley glared at him, but neither said a word.

As Harry sat down, Aunt Petunia rummaged in a kitchen cupboard and withdrew a wrapped package.  She came to the table, the frying pan in one hand and the package in the other.  "There," she said briskly, unceremoniously dumping the package on Harry's plate.  She immediately started dishing bacon onto her husband's plate as Vernon turned purple and Dudley's fat, piggy eyes narrowed.

"Er – what's this?"  Harry asked, staring at the package.  It was wrapped in plain white paper with no tag or other markings on it.  Was he supposed to deliver this somewhere?  

"Birthday gift.  For you," Aunt Petunia said curtly, returning to the stove to dish scrambled eggs into a white serving bowl.

Harry's hands gripped the sides of his chair.  His mind raced as he wondered if he could make a dash upstairs and grab his wand.  Obviously, something had happened to the Dursleys.  Perhaps they were all Death Eaters, polyjuiced – or maybe they were under the Imperious Curse.  The package had to be a bomb or something that would explode when he opened it.  After all, the Dursleys had never taken any notice of his birthday before – he sometimes wondered if they even knew when it was.  

Uncle Vernon was muttering under his breath as he shoveled bacon into his mouth.  "Rubbish… birthday gift, indeed… ungrateful boy… what nonsense…" Dudley was watching him suspiciously.  Aunt Petunia seemed to be ignoring him, but Harry could see she was watching out of the corner of her eye.

Harry tentatively reached for the package, his mind and body on the alert as he carefully tore the paper.  He opened the box and stared at the contents inside.  His mind reeled as his mouth struggled to form words.

"These… are… for… _me_?" he finally managed, touching the Muggle clothes in awe.  In the box were a pair of black jeans and a dark green T-shirt – and astonishingly enough, they looked like they were _his size_.  Not hand-me-downs from Dudley, but clothes that would actually _fit_.  Not only that, they were new – they still had the tags.  And how on earth had Aunt Petunia known his size?

"Yes, they're for you," Aunt Petunia snapped, setting the bowl of eggs on the table with a loud *thump*.  

"I, uh… thanks," Harry said weakly.  He had not been this stunned since last summer when Aunt Petunia had spoken up about the Azkaban Dementors.  "I'll, er… I'll just go try these on, then."

"Eat your breakfast first," she ordered tersely.  

Mouth agape, Harry spooned some eggs and bacon onto his plate.  The rest of the meal passed in silence, with both Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia ignoring him and Dudley sulking.

As soon as he'd finished eating, Harry took his birthday gift and went upstairs.  He changed out of his baggy jeans and too-large sweatshirt and into the new jeans and T-shirt.  The jeans were a bit long, but that was just as well; he'd grown several inches during the past year and would likely grow a few more this year.  The t-shirt fit perfectly.  His once skinny frame had filled out over the years (mostly due to Hogwarts meals and Mrs. Weasley's cooking), and the t-shirt skimmed his chest and accentuated his muscles nicely.  Harry flexed his arm and grinned; he wasn't a body builder by any stretch of the imagination, but neither was he a ninety-eight pound weakling.  

Hedwig was still in her cage, getting ready to leave, so Harry grabbed a spare bit of parchment and scribbled a quick note to Dumbledore.

_Dear Professor Dumbledore,_

_Thank you for your letter.  I know you're right about staying with the Dursleys, so you don't have to worry about me.  Thanks about my O.W.L. scores too; I did better than I thought I would._

_A strange thing happened this morning that you might want to check into.  Aunt Petunia  gave me a birthday gift, a nice one, too -- some Muggle clothes that actually fit.  Do you think she's under the Imperious Curse or something?  Come to think of it, she's been treating me halfway decently this summer, but that's probably because of Moody's threats at the train station.  Uncle Vernon keeps muttering about the "crazy one-eyed bloke" and what he'd think of my summer so far. _

_Maybe the she's just trying to put on a good front for Moody and the others, but something seems weird.  Just thought I'd let you know._

_Thanks again, and hope to see you soon._

_Harry_

As the rain had stopped, Hedwig was just about to set out.  Harry tied the third parchment scroll to her leg – she had Hermione's in her beak and Ron's tied to her other leg – and said, "Thanks, Hedwig; you can take that to Dumbledore.  No rush."  She hooted in acknowledgement and flew out the window.

When Harry went back downstairs, the three Dursleys stared at him.  Uncle Vernon grunted and Dudley sniggered.  Harry's face reddened as he self-consciously took his seat at the table.  "They fit really well.  Thanks again," Harry said, directing his comment to Aunt Petunia.

Uncle Vernon and Dudley ignored him, but Aunt Petunia nodded in acknowledgement.  Her pursed lips softened just a bit, and her pale blue eyes, usually hostile or angry, seemed almost… kind.  Harry's breath caught in his throat.  For the barest sliver of an instant, Aunt Petunia slightly resembled the pictures of his mother in Hagrid's photo album.

Last summer, after the Dementor attack, Harry had come to a realization that he'd never really contemplated before:  Aunt Petunia was his mother's sister.  It was so easy to forget; Aunt Petunia was tall, blond, blue-eyed, and horse-faced, with her face usually twisted in a scowl or a simper.  His mother had been shorter, red-haired, and green-eyed; in all of the pictures he had, she was smiling a beautiful smile, her lovely face rosy with happiness or laughter.  There was no family resemblance between the two sisters that he could find until just now, when something in Aunt Petunia's face had reminded Harry of Lily Potter.  It was an astonishing occurrence, and one he wasn't sure what to do about.

The phone rang loudly, jolting him from his musings.  Uncle Vernon, who had risen from his chair, gathering his briefcase and car keys, answered.  "Hello, Dursley residence… Oh, Mrs. Figg, how are you?"  Harry's ears perked up – for years he'd thought that Mrs. Figg was a batty old woman with too many cats, but just last summer he'd discovered that she was a Squib and an honourary member of the Order of the Phoenix.  If the Dursleys ever found out – he was hoping that they never would – they would forbid him from seeing Mrs. Figg, and she was his only link to the wizarding world in Little Whinging.

"Yes… your attic?  I see… well, I don't see why not, it would keep him off the streets and out of trouble… yes, St. Brutus'… home on holiday… should be perfectly safe.  I'll send him over straightaway…two o'clock?  All right, then. Goodbye, Mrs. Figg."

Uncle Vernon hung up the phone triumphantly and turned to Harry.  "Well, boy," he boomed, "you have a job."

"I do?"  Harry asked warily.

"Mrs. Figg needs an able-bodied boy to help her clean out her attic."  Uncle Vernon grinned evilly.  "I told her you'd be more than happy to help."

Harry thought fast.  He definitely wanted to go – he was sure that he wasn't really going to be cleaning out the attic; that was probably just an excuse on Mrs. Figg's part to get him over there – but if Uncle Vernon realized that Harry wanted to go, he'd get suspicious.  

"Do I have to?" he said, dulling his voice so he'd appear reluctant.

"Yes, you do!"  Uncle Vernon barked.  His eyes narrowed.  "Surely your – _friends_ – won't object if I ask you to help a neighbour in need.  It's the responsible thing to do.  Builds character.  Keeps you out of trouble."

Harry kept his voice low and disappointed.  "All right, then," he muttered, struggling to conceal his inner glee.

"You're to be at her house at two o'clock sharp – no excuses and no lollygagging!"  Uncle Vernon commanded, suddenly in a much more jovial mood than he'd been in all morning.  "Well, Petunia, I'm off."  He kissed Aunt Petunia on the cheek, clapped a beefy hand on Dudley's shoulder, and whistled as he went out the door.  

Harry rose from the table, careful to keep a disappointed expression on his face until he was safely in his own room.  He smiled, punching one fist in the air in delight.  Hedwig, who had already returned – she'd made a remarkably quick delivery, even for her – eyed him calmly.  A birthday with no Dursleys around – it was one of the best gifts he could have gotten, short of leaving Privet Drive for good.  


	2. Chapter 2 Mrs Figg's Attic

**Chapter 2:  Mrs. Figg's Attic**

At promptly two o'clock, Harry was on Mrs. Figg's front steps, ringing her doorbell.

"Harry!"  Mrs. Figg beamed at him after she'd opened the door.  "So, that brutish oaf of a Dursley didn't stop you, eh?"

"Nope." Harry grinned.  "I pretended I didn't want to come."

"Smart boy," Mrs. Figg said, ushering him inside.  She was still wearing the same moldy old housedress and ratty tartan carpet slippers she'd worn to the Wizengamot when testifying at Harry's expulsion hearing last summer, but her round face was cheerful.  "Now, why don't you go on up to the attic and get started – the trapdoor's in the upstairs hallway.  I'll be up in a jiffy."

Harry blinked, his heart sinking.  "The attic?  But I – I thought – "

"Go on, now!"  Mrs. Figg didn't seem to notice his despondency as she ushered him up the stairs.  

Harry sighed and tried to ignore the strong smell of cat that pervaded the house as he trudged up the stairs.  So much for having a good birthday.  Still, it _was_ Dursley-free, he reminded himself, and Mrs. Figg wasn't a bad sort.  He could talk freely about the wizarding world, catch up on the news, and perhaps Mrs. Figg had a wizard radio that could play WWN – the Wizarding Wireless Network.

The attic door was on the ceiling at the end of the upstairs hallway.  The trapdoor was open and a ladder extended to the floor. Harry climbed the ladder and hoisted himself into the dark attic.  _She could have at least turned on the light_, Harry thought, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the darkness before he looked for a light switch.

"_Lumos!_" a loud voice suddenly boomed.  Harry hastily reached into his pocket and whipped out his wand as light filled the room, ready to duel with whatever was there.

"SURPRISE!" many voices suddenly shouted at once.  Harry, blinded by the sudden influx of light, blinked rapidly.  Once the stars had faded from his eyes, he stared at the sight in front of him. 

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Ron, Bill, Fred, George, Ginny, Hermione, Tonks, Mad-Eye Moody – and, to Harry's amazement, Neville Longbottom, Luna Lovegood, and, of all people, _Dumbledore_ – were clustered around a table bearing a large, gooey, chocolate cake.  Sixteen red candles burning brightly decorated the top, along with letters in red and gold icing, magically flashing "Happy Birthday, Harry" across the top and sides.  Another table bore a pile of wrapped presents.

Even more amazing than the cake and presents was the room itself.  Rather than a musty, moldy old attic, Harry was standing in an exact replica of the Gryffindor common room at Hogwarts, right down to the fireplace and squashy armchairs.  The windows, rather than looking out over the Hogwarts grounds, instead showed Wisteria Walk and Magnolia Crescent.  

"Wh – wha – ?"  Harry sputtered.

"Happy birthday, Harry!"  Tonks exclaimed, her grin so wide it seemed her face would split in two.  She was looking very pretty today, with a head full of spiky black hair and bright green eyes – in his honour, no doubt.  He was surprised she hadn't put a lightening-bolt scar on her head too.   

"Yes, happy birthday!"  Luna, Neville, Ron, and Hermione chimed in unison, grinning at him.  Neville had actually grown several inches since Harry had last seen him; he seemed to be losing his chubby look and vaguely reminded him of the Frank Longbottom he'd seen in Moody's old Order of the Phoenix photo, though he still greatly resembled his mother.  

Luna looked the same; she had on robes of Ravenclaw blue but scarlet and gold ribbons in her dirty blonde pigtails.  She still had her necklace of butterbeer corks and, now, matching earrings.

Ron hadn't changed except to grow an inch or two more; Harry guessed he might be the tallest of the Weasleys once he was through growing.  His grinning face was as friendly and freckly as ever.

The biggest surprise, however, was Hermione.  She seemed a bit taller, but – thinner, somehow.  _Slender,_ Harry thought.  And – well, _curvier_.  He was oddly reminded of Fleur Delacour.    Perhaps it was the fact she was dressed in Muggle clothes; he rarely ever saw her in anything but her Hogwarts robes.  To his horror, he felt his face and neck flush hotly; he hoped that everyone would think he was blushing due to the party and not his thoughts regarding his best friend.

"Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger had the idea," Dumbledore, resplendent in crimson robes, said serenely, "that since you couldn't join them at the Burrow for a birthday party, they would bring a birthday party to you."

"Oh, your face was a sight to behold," Mrs. Figg cackled as she climbed the ladder into the attic.  "When I told you to go on up to the attic, you looked like I'd just told you that Quidditch had been outlawed."  

"But your letters – I thought – " Harry began, lowering his wand and feeling foolish.  

Hermione laughed merrily.  "We've had this planned for a month.  We thought if we wrote you and pretended that we didn't know when we'd be seeing you next, you wouldn't suspect a thing."

"We got the letters you wrote us – Hedwig brought them right over here this morning.  Shortest flight she's ever had to take!"  Ron chimed in, beaming.  

"Wow," Harry said, still feeling foolish but grinning in spite of himself.  Hedwig had returned remarkably fast – he hadn't given it much thought at the time, but in retrospect her trip had been entirely too short for the distances she should have traveled.  He'd been so excited about a Dursley-free birthday that he hadn't given it much notice.  "Well, thanks, everyone."

"Remus sends his regrets, Harry," Dumbledore told him.  "As you may know, it was the full moon last night and I'm afraid he didn't feel quite up to travelling today."

"I understand," Harry said, fighting down the disappointment welling in his chest as he pocketed his wand.

"Hagrid wanted to come as well, but I'm afraid I had to discourage him; he would be – ah – a bit too conspicuous in Little Whinging," Dumbledore added, and Harry laughed, imagining the look on Uncle Vernon's face if Hagrid came strolling down Privet Drive. 

"Glad to see you got your wand out good and quick, boy," Moody growled, his magical blue eye whizzing in circles in his eye socket.  "_Constant vigilance_!"

"Aw, lighten up, Moody, it's his birthday party!"  Tonks protested, putting her arm around Harry and winking at him. 

"My first one, too," Harry said without thinking, examining the cake.

The room fell silent with such suddenness that Harry nearly jumped at the abrupt stillness.  "What?" he said nervously.  Most of the guests looked surprised, but Tonks looked stunned, and Mrs. Weasley wore a look of abject horror.  

"This is your first birthday party?  _Ever_?"  Ginny said after a moment, breaking the stillness.

"Er… yeah," Harry said uncomfortably.  "I might've had one when I turned one, but I can't remember."  He brightened, and added hastily, "Aunt Petunia gave me a birthday gift this morning, though.  First one I've ever gotten from any of the Dursleys."

"Ah, yes, so you mentioned in your letter," Dumbledore said, his soft blue eyes twinkling.  "I must admit, I was rather surprised."

Moody's one good eye was narrowed; the other was looking in the direction of the Dursley's house.  "She did, did she?" he growled.  "What, poisoned sweets?"  

This remark evinced a chuckle from Ron and a giggle from Hermione.  It seemed to break the tension a bit.  "No, though I wouldn't put it past her," Harry said.  "Actually, she gave me these."  He swept a hand down his body, gesturing at the new jeans and T-shirt.

"It's about time that – that – _woman_ gave you something decent to wear," Mrs. Weasley muttered darkly.  Harry threw her a surprised glance; the normally cheerful and jolly woman looked almost vicious.  

"Uh, why don't we cut the cake?"  Mr. Weasley suggested hastily.

"Yeah, Harry, blow out the candles," Fred suggested, a wicked glint in his eyes.

"Go on, give it a try," George agreed, an identical glint in his eyes.

Harry started toward the cake eagerly but stopped short.  "These are _real_ candles, aren't they?"  he asked, eyeing the Weasley twins suspiciously.  "They're not from Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes?"

"Of _course_ not, Harry," George said innocently.

"Honestly, do you think we'd do something like that on your birthday?"  Fred asked, smiling widely.  

"Yes," Harry, Ron, Neville, Ginny, and Hermione said simultaneously.  Luna, who didn't have as much experience with the Weasley twins as the rest, giggled.

"Don't worry, Harry," Mrs. Weasley said, the angry glare fading from her eyes and her normally jovial countenance returning.  "I baked and decorated that cake myself – and I made sure that those two pranksters didn't get anywhere near it." 

"All right, then," Harry said, grinning, and stepped toward the cake.  He could see that Mrs. Weasley had enchanted the candles; they'd been burning steadily for five minutes but there wasn't a speck of wax on the frosting.

He took a deep breath and blew as hard as he could.  

BANG!  

The candles exploded quite spectacularly, releasing a storm of red-gold glitter and confetti shaped like little Gryffindor lions that showered upon Harry and the others.  Several firecrackers whizzed and burst along the top of the ceiling, raining red and gold sparkles over the pseudo-common room.    

"One of our new products at Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes!"  Fred announced, doubling over with laughter.  

"Blasting Birthday Blazers!"  George proclaimed, winking rakishly.  "Eight sickles for a box of ten – you've got a Gryffindor Gala package there, Harry."

Fred, ignoring his mother's exasperated glares, continued, "We've also got Ravenclaw Revelry," here he swept a grandiose bow in Luna's direction, "Hufflepuff Hoopla, and Slytherin Shindig, along with your all-purpose Magical Merrymaking package."

Harry, who had jumped back in alarm at the first blast, began to laugh.  Ron and Hermione joined in, and soon the whole room was a cacophony of mirth.  "You two!"  Mrs. Weasley scolded, laughing in spite of herself.  "However did you manage it?  I didn't leave that cake alone for a second when you were in the house."

"We had a partner in crime," Fred grinned, clapping a hand on Ginny's shoulder.  

The youngest Weasley tossed her red head and smiled smugly. "Sorry, Harry, I couldn't resist."

"No problem, Ginny," Harry said, thankful there were no mirrors around – he probably looked ridiculous with glitter and confetti in his hair and all over his clothes.  All told, Fred and George's joke had been relatively benign – he was lucky that he hadn't turned into a giant salamander.

The guests laughed and chattered amongst themselves as Mrs. Weasley cut and served the cake; she also added a generous scoop of non-melting choco-nut ice cream from Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor to each plate.  

Even though this cake was wonderful, Harry briefly thought back to his first birthday cake, the one Hagrid had given him at their first meeting. His first cake had had a special flavor to it that just couldn't compare with this one – though he didn't say anything of the kind to Mrs. Weasley, and assured her that her baking was, as always, excellent.  Mrs. Weasley beamed at him.

Harry joined his classmates, who were all wolfing down cake as they chatted about the news of the summer.  Neville shared his own O.W.L. scores; Neville, amazingly enough, had gotten six O.W.L.s and had even earned a P.O.S.T. Mark in Herbology (when Harry shared the news of his own P.O.S.T. Mark, Hermione squealed, "You got one in Defense Against the Dark Arts?  Ooooh, Harry, those are really rare!"); also surprisingly, Neville had received an A in Potions.  "Without Snape there, I could actually concentrate on what I was doing for once," Neville explained.    

He was also showing off the new wand he'd gotten to replace his father's, which had snapped in the Department of Mysteries. Harry quickly pushed that thought out of his mind and instead concentrated on admiring Neville's new wand.  "Ten inches, beech, with a dragon heartstring core," Neville bragged. 

"Time for gifts!"  Mrs. Weasley announced after her delicious cake (Harry had devoured three pieces) was eaten.  Harry blushed as he looked at the red-and-gold packages heaped on the table.  "You shouldn't have…" he muttered as Mr. Weasley pushed him toward the table.  "I have enough stuff already…"

"Oh, don't be stupid, Harry, it's your _birthday_!"  Ron said, momentarily disappearing behind a large chair.  "Here, you might as well get mine first, it's the biggest…"

He pulled out what looked like a large wooden "T", complete with a shiny red bow.  "It's for Hedwig," Ron explained.  "You said last year that she only had her cage to roost on in your bedroom, and Dad showed me how to use his Muggle woodworking tools this summer…"

"Wow, Ron, this is incredible!"  Harry said, examining the stand and feeling very impressed.   It was surprisingly well-made for someone who, has far as he knew, had never done any sort of woodworking before.  Ron had even carved Hedwig's name into the base.  "She'll love it, mate – thanks!"

Ron blushed, looking very pleased with himself.  "Dad helped."

"Not very much," Mr. Weasley disagreed, smiling with pride.  "He's a natural carpenter – he can use some of those Muggle tools better than I can."

"Me next."  Hermione shoved a package at him.  "Go on, open it!"

Hermione's gift, not surprisingly, was a book.  However, she'd selected _So You Want to Eradicate the Dark Forces:  A Preparation Guide for the Auror Training Entrance Exams_.  "Tonks helped me pick it out," Hermione said, her eyes shining at Harry's obvious pleasure in the gift.  It was all Harry could do to keep from opening the book and beginning to read right then and there, but he had other gifts to open.

Tonks, Moody, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Bill, and Ginny gave him a group gift:  an enormous birthday-themed gift box of Honeydukes sweets and chocolates as well as a handsome assortment of Mrs. Weasley's own mince pies and homemade chocolate marshmallow fudge.  "Be sure not to eat the lot at once," Mrs. Weasley cautioned.  "That goes for you, too!" she added to Ron, who was eyeing the package with anticipation. 

Luna's gift was a year's subscription to _The Quibbler – _"The next issue will feature our sightings of the Crumple-Horned Snorkack from our trip to Sweden," she informed Harry as Ginny giggled and Hermione rolled her eyes.  

Neville's gift really surprised Harry; like Hermione, he'd given a book – but this book was _Magical Plants and Their Defensive Uses_.  Harry flicked through it quickly; it contained many tips on how to use any nearby plant life for a defensive advantage, including for camouflage and healing purposes.  

"Wow, Neville!" Harry said enthusiastically, and Neville beamed.  

"I have a copy too," he said proudly.  "Maybe we can use some of the material in the D.A. this year."

"Er… yeah, probably," Harry said, taken aback for a moment.  He hadn't thought they'd be continuing the D.A. any longer, considering that there was no reason to have a secret DADA group now that Umbridge was out of Hogwarts.  Neville, however, apparently thought otherwise.  "Maybe you can teach that session," Harry added, and Neville's eyes grew large.  

"M-me?  T-teach a D.A. class?" he squeaked.  "R-really?"

"Well, you know more about Herbology then we ever will; you'd be the perfect choice," Hermione spoke up, poking Ron with her elbow.

"Yeah, definitely!"  Ron chimed in, taking the hint.

Neville's round, cheerful face was beaming brightly.  Harry made a mental note to compliment Neville more often this term; he didn't want Neville to lose the confidence he'd gained the last year.

"Go on, ours next!"  Fred and George said in unison, shoving another package his way.

"But… the candles…"  Harry stammered.  

"Those weren't your _gift_, Harry!"  Fred said.

"Those were just a little entertainment for the party," George added.  "Open it."

Harry did and found an assortment of Skiving Snackboxes.  "And anytime you need more, mate, just send us an owl," Fred told him.  "You'll get a fresh supply, compliments of Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes."

"It's the least we can do for our principal investor," George said cheerfully.

"Hey, thanks!"  Harry said, pleased.  Then, catching Dumbledore's eye, he stammered, "Er… not that I'll have much use for these at Hogwarts."

"Indeed not, now that we have an effective cure for Umbridge-itis."  His blue eyes were twinkling.  "However, I may need to borrow one of those," Dumbledore continued calmly, ignoring the appalled glare of Mrs. Weasley.   "I daresay that being Headmaster can get dreadfully dull from time to time – there are a few days I would like to skive off."

"Yes, sir," Harry said, repressing his own laughter with difficulty as the twins sniggered.

One long, thin package remained on the table.  Dumbledore picked it up and seemed to hesitate for a moment, then handed it to Harry.  "This is for you," he said gently, "from Remus and I."  His eyes still twinkled, but his face was serious.

Curious, Harry ripped off the packaging and lifted the lid from the box.  Inside was a cream-coloured envelope resting under two wands – one was the exact length of his own, but made of a darker wood; the other was slightly shorter than his and made of willow, like Ron's.  "I don't understand… what – " he began to ask, unsure of why Dumbledore would be giving him a wand – two wands – when he already had a perfectly good one.

"Those," Dumbledore said in quiet, measured tones, "are your parents' wands.   Remus recovered them from the house the night James and Lily were killed – he's kept them safe ever since." 

Harry stared at the two wands, blinking rapidly to keep tears out of his eyes.  With the exception of his Invisibility Cloak, he had had nothing that had belonged to his parents.  

"We had intended to give them to you when you came of age," Dumbledore said, an odd expression on his face, "but I had a conversation with the Sorting Hat earlier this summer, and it suggested that I should give them to you now."

"The _Sorting_ Hat?"  Harry said, startled.  "You _talk_ to it?"  

Dumbledore nodded.  "On quite a regular basis.  It is one of my most trusted advisors."  He paused, his eyes moving to the box Harry held.  "You'll find a letter from Oliver Ollivander in there.  I asked him to give you a few more details about the properties of the wands."

Harry closed the box, swallowing a large lump in his throat.  "Thank you, sir," he managed, turning away to put the wands with his other gifts, but surreptitiously wiping his eyes at the same time.

"All right, Harry, time for my gift," Mrs. Figg said suddenly, breaking the silence. "I've had my fireplace hooked up to the Floo network so Ron and Hermione can visit Little Whinging all they like this summer."

"Really?!"  Harry gasped, his eyes widening.  "_Can_ Squibs get their fireplaces hooked up to the Network?" 

"It's optional," Mr. Weasley said.  "And there are numerous forms to fill out if you live among Muggles, but I helped Mrs. Figg with the paperwork and – er – did a bit of schmoozing with the officials at the Floo Network Authority."

"That's not all," Mrs. Weasley said, smiling.  "Arthur also arranged for the Grangers' fireplace to be hooked up, as well."

Hermione nodded.  "I told Mum and Dad it would be useful; this way I don't have to rely on them anytime I need to go to Platform 9 ¾ or Diagon Alley.  We had to fill out the same paperwork as Mrs. Figg, but it's all been arranged."

"So I can't leave Privet Drive at all this summer?"  Harry asked Dumbledore, still feeling a bit disappointed.

"I'm afraid not, Harry.  As I said in my letter, it's the safest place for you now that Voldemort and his supporters are active," Dumbledore said kindly.  "However, I hope that having Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger nearby will make the summer a bit more bearable."

"Just think of all the fun we can have with Dudley, Harry," Ron said, grinning evilly.

"_Ron_!" Mrs. Weasley scolded.

"Just kidding, Mum," Ron assured her hastily, but he winked at Harry.

"Wow," Harry said, wishing he could think of something more original to say, but his mind was reeling.  He knew his friends had planned this party in hopes of cheering him up after what had happened to Sirius, and he was grateful for the distraction.  "Thanks, everyone; this was brilliant."

"It's not over yet!"  Hermione said cheerfully.  "We brought Exploding Snap, Gobstones, Ron brought his chess set – we can play whatever you want."  She grinned, looking around the room.  "Except Quidditch, of course."

All at once, Harry had an idea – an awful, wonderful idea.  "All right… but how about we bring these gifts over to the Dursley's house first, so we can get them out of the way?" he suggested, grinning at Ron, Fred, and George.

"Sure!" the three Weasley boys said instantly.  Ron's evil grin had returned and the twins' eyes were glinting mischievously.

"No!" Mr. and Mrs. Weasley said simultaneously.

"Ron, you, Ginny and Hermione may go… Neville and Luna as well… but I think it's best if Fred and George stay here," Mr. Weasley clarified.  "The last thing we need at the Dursleys is two of-age wizards who can't keep their wands – or _wizarding wheezes_ – to themselves."  Mr. Weasley was gazing sternly at twins, and Harry knew that he was remembering the Ton-Tongue toffee.

The twins looked disappointed, but subsided meekly when they saw Dumbledore's nod of agreement.  "Your father is correct, I'm afraid," the old wizard said.  "Not to mention _what_ the Ministry might think if they detect any more magic at 4 Privet Drive… the last thing Harry needs this summer is _another_ disciplinary hearing."

"Tonks and I will escort you there," Moody said, his wooden leg thumping on the floor.  "You can't be too safe… there could be Death Eaters lurking right outside this door, you never know…"

Harry rolled his eyes, but agreed.  Personally, he thought Death Eaters would be insane to try and attack him when seven Order of the Phoenix members – one of whom was Albus Dumbledore – were just two streets away, but it certainly wouldn't hurt for Dudley to catch another glimpse of Mad-Eye Moody.  

"And once you're done, give me a ring on the 'phone and they'll escort you back here," Mrs. Figg told them.

"I wish I could come," Mr. Weasley said wistfully, no doubt itching to examine all the plugs at 4 Privet Drive, "but I doubt your aunt and uncle want me anywhere near your house after what happened the last time I was there."

"And remember to _behave yourselves_!"  Mrs. Weasley cried as they descended down the attic ladder.

~ end of Chapter 2 ~


	3. Chapter 3 The DA at Privet Drive

**Chapter 3: The D.A. at Privet Drive**

Tonks and Moody walked with them to Number 4, Privet Drive, their wands out and Moody's magical eye swiveling every which way.  "Your uncle isn't at home, is he, boy?" he barked to Harry as they walked up the drive.

"No, he's at work," Harry answered, feeling a twinge of disappointment.  It was supremely ironic; most of the time when Uncle Vernon _was_ home, Harry wished he wasn't – but right now he'd give ten galleons to see his uncle's broad face turn purple at the sight of Mad-Eye Moody thumping up the driveway.

"Shame," Moody muttered, evidently wishing to give Uncle Vernon more of what he'd dished out at Platform 9 ¾.  

"All right," Harry said as he reached the front door.  He looked at Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Neville and Luna.  "Just remember that my Aunt Petunia and Dudley hate wizards and anything to do with them, so don't take it personally if they're rude, okay?" 

"Go on, Harry, I just can't _wait_ to see Dudley again," Ron sniggered.

Harry pushed open the front door, carrying his new owl stand.  The others, including Tonks and Moody, followed behind.  Moody looked around the Dursleys' immaculate foyer, and, apparently satisfied that there were no Death Eaters lurking behind the door, nodded to Tonks.  The two Apparated back to Mrs. Figg's house. 

A second later, Aunt Petunia bustled out from the kitchen.  "Well, it's about time," she said sternly. "I need you to water the garden, it's absolutely _parched _– " She broke off abruptly as she caught sight of the entourage with Harry.  Her eyes narrowed as her gaze raked over Ron, Hermione, Neville and Luna.  When her stare traveled to Ginny, however, Petunia paled and took a step back, one hand moving up to clutch her chest, the other grabbing the hat-stand and holding on for dear life.  "L – Lily," she gasped, her pale eyes wide with shock.  "It can't be…"

The others, Harry included, promptly turned to stare at Ginny, who looked rather taken aback at Petunia's reaction.  With a start, Harry realized that Ginny _did_ look something like the pictures of Harry's mum in his photo album; Ginny had slightly different features and brown eyes instead of green, but Harry could see a small resemblance to the fifteen-year-old Lily in his album.  

"Er… no," Ginny said carefully, shooting a startled glance in Harry's direction.  "I'm Ginny Weasley, a friend of Harry's from school."

"Friend… from… school?"  Petunia repeated faintly.  "From… _that_ school?"

"Yes, Aunt Petunia," Harry jumped in hurriedly.  Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Dudley lurking in the background, a frightened expression on his porky face.  "They were at Mrs. Figg's… they threw a surprise birthday party for me.  They're just helping me carry my stuff up to my room, and we'll leave."

"Mrs. Figg?"  Aunt Petunia said suspiciously, releasing her hold on the hat-stand and calming noticeably. "How does she know… _them_?"  

Harry opened his mouth and closed it again; he didn't want to give away that Mrs. Figg was a Squib, because he knew the Dursleys would be horrible to her if they found out she associated with the wizarding world.  Mrs. Figg wasn't a bad old sort, and the last thing he wanted was for Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia to treat her like dirt as long as she lived in Little Whinging.  Also, they'd fuss and complain at him for the rest of the summer whenever he went over there.

Luckily, Hermione jumped in.  "She's a friend of my parents; I'm Muggleborn, so my parents know a lot of Muggles," she said, lying glibly.  "I asked her if she would mind hosting a surprise party for my friend from school who lived near her, and she said that was okay.  She… doesn't know that we're wizards; there wasn't any magic at the party."

Harry could sense that Ron and Neville were struggling to keep straight faces; it was all he could do himself to contain a snicker.  Hermione's fibs seemed to have slightly pacified Petunia, however; she visibly relaxed.

"Er, Aunt Petunia, these are my friends Hermione Granger; Ron Weasley; Neville Longbottom; Luna Lovegood; and you met Ginny Weasley," Harry introduced hurriedly, pointing to each in turn; he was hoping to take his aunt's mind off Mrs. Figg.  "Everyone, this is my Aunt Petunia, my mum's sister, and my cousin, Dudley."  Dudley jumped as he was introduced and looked as though he wanted to bolt into the kitchen; however, oddly enough, his piggy eyes seemed to be fixed on Luna.  Harry noticed Luna and Neville staring with fascination at Dudley; likely they'd never seen someone their own age as enormous as he was.

"Oh… well…" Petunia looked as though she would dearly love to kick them all out, but something held her back.  "Take that rubbish up to your room, then.  Make it quick, and don't track any mud or dirt over the floor – I've just mopped!"  She positively ran back into the kitchen, grabbing Dudley's sleeve and dragging him along with her.

"Come on," Harry said, feeling immensely relieved.  He led the way up into his rather small bedroom and shut the door once they were inside.

"That's your _cousin_, Harry?"  Neville exclaimed immediately, bursting into giggles.  "He… he could stand to lose a bit of weight, don't you think?"

"I've thought that for years, Neville," Harry answered, carefully placing his new owl stand next to the dresser where Hedwig's cage sat.  "Two years ago he was put on a diet… his school didn't stock uniforms big enough for him anymore."

"Did it work?"  Luna asked interestedly.

"Sort of… now he's a boxing champ at his school; that's a Muggle sport, kind of like dueling, except Muggles use these big gloves to beat each other up with instead of magic," Harry explained.  "Come to think of it, I'm not surprised Dudley got so good, considering he used to use me as his punching bag."

"_Gloves_?"  Ron scoffed.  "Bloody hell – these Muggles obviously don't know that a sport's not a sport unless there's danger of falling fifty feet from a broomstick."

Hedwig, who'd been roosting on top of her cage, flew to her new owlstand and hooted in satisfaction.  "Don't thank me, thank Ron; he's the one who made it," Harry told her with a smile.

Hedwig flew to Ron's shoulder and nipped at his ear affectionately, hooting her thanks.  Ron's ears went red as Hedwig flew back to her stand, but he was grinning happily. "You're welcome, Hedwig," he said.

Ginny and Hermione had been strangely quiet.  As Harry glanced at them, he noticed that they were exchanging odd glances.  "Something the matter?"

"What's all this junk?" Hermione asked, gesturing toward the shelves filled with Dudley's old, damaged, and broken-down toys and equipment.

"Dudley's," Harry said in an off-hand voice.  "This used to be his second bedroom – whenever he broke something, he chucked it in here."

"Has been your bedroom the whole time you've been here, Harry?" Ginny asked quietly, depositing the gifts she'd carried on the sagging, lumpy bed and gazing at the mismatched, chipped furniture and cat flap installed in the door.

"Well – no, actually," Harry replied slowly, "until I was eleven, I slept in the cupboard under the stairs."  Ginny looked at him, her eyes wide and horrified.  "They moved me up here when I got my Hogwarts letter… it was addressed to me in my cupboard, you see, and they thought they were being watched, so…" He trailed off, his cheeks burning.  

"When Fred and George and I flew the car here before second year, they had bars on the window," Ron jumped in.  

"Yeah, that was after Dobby smashed that pudding and got me in loads of trouble," Harry remembered with a scowl.  

"Oh, _Harry_," Hermione said, looking as though she was about to burst into tears.  

"It's not so bad; it's only for a couple weeks out of the year," Harry said uncomfortably, "and once I'm of age, I'm going to get my own place, maybe in London, like S-Sirius did."  It was hard for him to speak his godfather's name, but he managed and stared defiantly at Hermione, as if daring her to object.  She looked as if she wanted to, but evidently decided against it.

"Why did your aunt call me Lily?"  Ginny asked curiously, changing the subject.  "Wasn't that your mum's name?"

"Yeah.  I dunno why she did that, maybe it's 'cause you look a bit like she did," Harry shrugged, digging in his trunk for the handsome leather-bound photo album in his Hogwarts trunk.  He flipped to a picture of his mother at fifteen (his mother was waving energetically at the camera, flashing a red-and-gold prefect's badge and grinning widely at whoever was taking the picture) and handed the album to Ginny.  

"I can see the resemblance," Neville said, craning his neck over Ginny's shoulder.  "Ginny looks a bit like your mum – her eyes are different, though."  

Ginny examined the picture, and then flipped the page.  The next page held the picture of James and Lily Potter's wedding day.  "Harry… is that _Sirius_?"  Ginny gasped, staring at the youthful, energetic man grinning at the camera and making playful faces at the love-struck couple in the photo with him.

"Yeah, that's him," Harry said quietly.  "He was my dad's best man."

"He looks so different," Hermione marveled, gazing at the photo.  "So… _young_."

"Well, twelve years in Azkaban tends to age a person," Harry replied curtly, moving his birthday gifts to his trunk – he didn't want Dudley sneaking in and wrecking some of his presents.

"I… suppose it does," Hermione murmured, her face growing scarlet.  Ginny handed him the album, and Harry returned it to his trunk and locked it securely.  "Come on then, let's get out of here."

They filed out of the small bedroom.  To Harry's surprise, Dudley was lurking in the hallway near his bedroom door.  "What're you doing here?"  Harry asked suspiciously.

"N-nothing," Dudley said quickly, his chins wobbling as his eyes flicked over to Luna.  "I – I'm just making sure that you're not doing any of – _that_ – with your friends."

"Any what?  Hermione asked coolly, raising an eyebrow.  "Magic?"

Dudley, his eyes still on Luna, jumped as though she had suddenly said a swear word.  "Yes," he said almost incoherently.  "That."  He drew himself up to his full height and puffed out his chest.  "I'm Junior Inter-School Boxing Champion of the Southeast at Smeltings, you know," he suddenly bragged, sounding not unlike Uncle Vernon, who frequently boasted about his company car and important position at Grunnings.

"Really," Luna said dreamily, fixing her large, pale blue eyes on Dudley's jiggling chins.  "Harry plays Quidditch for Gryffindor.  Do you play Quidditch?"

"_No_!"  Dudley exclaimed, looking horrified at the very thought.  

"Pity.  _I _rather like men who have nice broomsticks," Luna said absently, and swept past Dudley – it was a rather tight squeeze – to the top of the stair.  Dudley stared stupidly after her, his brows furrowing in confusion.

Harry motioned to the others, and they all managed to squeeze past Dudley's rather large bulk and head down the stairs.  "Just a minute," he said to the others in the hall.  "The telephone's in the kitchen, I'll go on and call Moody."

When he returned to the hallway (Aunt Petunia had holed herself up in the living room, so Harry, thankfully, was able to call Mrs. Figg's in private), Dudley had come down the stairs and was staring fixedly at Luna.  Luna was examining a vase on the hall table and humming what sounded like "Weasley is our King" under her breath as the others stood around awkwardly, stealing curious glances at Dudley.  Ginny appeared to be choking back laughter; her face was nearly purple with the effort.  Hermione wasn't staring at Dudley; instead, her gaze was fixed on the door of the cupboard under the stairs, her expression inscrutable. 

"Come on," Harry said, opening the front door.  "We're supposed to wait for them outside."

His friends followed him out the door.  Luna paused, blinked at Dudley, and said cheerfully, "Toodle-oo!" before going out.  Once the door was closed and they were safely out of earshot, Ginny burst into laughter.  "Oh, Harry – " she gasped.  "Your cousin – has a crush – on _Luna_!"

Harry shook his head, bewildered.  "Of all people, Dudley gets a crush on a _witch_.  I'll never understand him."

"Did you hear the big oaf? 'I'm Inner-School Bozking Champ,'" Ron mimicked. 

"_Boxing_ champ," Hermione corrected.  

"What a git," Ron continued, ignoring Hermione.

Harry agreed, still feeling rather astonished about the whole experience.  Aunt Petunia mistaking Ginny for his mum; Dudley getting sweet not only on a witch, but on Luna "Loony" Lovegood, of all people… it was mind-boggling.  Harry wondered if Uncle Vernon, had he been there, would have begun discussing drills with Neville.

Moody and Tonks Apparated in front of them.  "All right, you lot, let's go," Moody growled, moving to the rear.

"Er… "  Hermione said hesitantly, peering down the street.  "Is it wise to Apparate in broad daylight like that?  What if a Muggle saw you?"

"Don't worry, Hermione, we have our ways of making sure no Muggles are about," Tonks said mysteriously.  "Back to the party, then!"  She strode down the street to Mrs. Figg's, and the rest of them followed.

Hermione fell in-step with Harry as they walked across Privet Drive.  "Harry, I wanted to apologize," she said, her voice small.

"For what?"  Harry asked.

"Lying to your aunt.  I hope I didn't make more trouble for you," she said nervously.

"It's all right, you haven't," Harry reassured her, shrugging.  "If they try anything, I'll threaten to write to Moody; that's worked so far this summer."  

"Still, I – " Hermione remained anxious.  "I didn't realize it was like that for you.  I mean, you've told me that the Dursleys don't like you, and I know you've never had proper clothes and all, but – "

"But what?"  Harry asked curiously.

"But – oh, Harry – they used to make you sleep in a _cupboard_!"  Hermione said, her large brown eyes troubled.  

"Hermione, it's okay," Harry said, alarmed.  He glanced at the others, but Ron and Ginny were chatting with Tonks, and Neville and Luna were speaking to each other.  None of them seemed to be listening to their conversation.  "Really, I've gotten used to it, and as I said I'm only here during the summer holidays anyway – " 

"All right, here we are," Moody announced, stopping at Mrs. Figg's house.  A large black-and-white cat stared insolently at them from the front steps; Harry recognized him as Mr. Tibbles, one of Mrs. Figg's many cats.  

"Go on, then…" Tonks opened the door and ushered them inside.  

The party seemed to have moved down to the living room; Fred and George were gone, but Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Bill, and Dumbledore were seated at Mrs. Figg's kitchen table, with Mrs. Figg pouring tea for them all.  "Hello," Mrs. Weasley said cheerfully.  "Did you have a good time?"

"Smashing," Ron said, glancing around the room.  "Where'd Fred and George go?"

"They had to go back to the store, dear; Lee Jordan Flooed and said something had come up… I can't believe that those two actually have a work ethic." Mrs. Weasley was shaking her head.  She threw a glance at Harry that was affectionate and exasperated all at once.  "I almost sent you a Howler when Ron told me where they got the money to start their business.  I admit I wasn't too keen on their opening a joke shop, but it seems to have given them a bit of responsibility, which is more than I ever could do…"

"Mum," Ginny said suddenly, "do you think I look like Harry's mum did when she was at school?"  

"What?"  Mrs. Weasley said, surprised.  "Well… I don't know, dear, I was well out of Hogwarts by the time Lily arrived…"

Both Moody's magical eye and normal eye were staring intently at Ginny, who squirmed uncomfortably under his concentrated stare.  "A bit," he growled.  "You have her figure.  But she had lighter hair, different eyes."

Bill was gazing at Ginny, a contemplative expression on his face.  "I knew her at Hogwarts, she was some older than me, though… I dunno, I think Moody's right.  You do look a lot like her, especially from the back, but your face and eyes are a bit different."

"Why do you ask?"  Mr. Weasley said, his eyebrows raised.

"Harry's aunt… when we walked in, she saw me and called me Lily…" Ginny said, looking uncomfortable.  "She looked really shocked; maybe she thought I was a ghost or something.  It was kind of weird."

Dumbledore chuckled softly, polishing his half-moon spectacles on his crimson robe.  "No doubt her sister has been on her mind lately, what with recent events… Voldemort's return, the Dementors last year… her new attitude with Harry this summer seems to indicate a change in her thoughts, as well."  He put his glasses back on and looked at Ginny over the top of them.   "I agree with William – you do bear a passing resemblance to Lily, but no more than that."  Dumbledore's gaze traveled from Ginny to Hermione.  "Is something the matter, Miss Granger?"

Hermione's fingers were twisting together and her face still bore the troubled expression she'd worn as they walked from Privet Drive to Mrs. Figg's house.  "Professor Dumbledore, _why_ does Harry have to stay at that – that _place_ all summer?" Hermione erupted, causing the occupants of the room to stare at her.  Vocal emotional displays from Hermione were rare.  "It's _awful_ –he's in a tiny room with a horrible bed, and it's filled with his cousin's old rubbish, and there's a cat flap on the door and they used to have bars on the windows, and they used to make him sleep in a _cupboard_, for Merlin's sake, and his aunt and cousin are _so_ unpleasant, and I haven't even _met _his uncle, I can't imagine how bad he must be, and I don't see why Harry has to stay there when they obviously don't want him!" With this, she promptly burst into tears.

"_Hermione_…" Harry was aghast; he hadn't realized just how upset she'd been about his circumstances at the Dursleys'.  He couldn't fathom why she was so distressed; it's not as if he was being forced to sleep in the garage or in the backyard.  "I told you, it's okay, I don't mind, really…"

Mrs. Weasley had risen from her chair at the outset of Hermione's outburst and now had the sobbing girl in her arms, trying to comfort her.  "Hermione, shhhh… it's all right, dear, there's no need to cry…" She looked helplessly at Dumbledore as Ginny moved toward Hermione and put a tentative hand on her shoulder.  Hermione just cried harder.

"Harry," Dumbledore said quietly, "why don't you and the others – " he nodded at Ginny, who reluctantly backed away, " – go back up to the attic, perhaps for a game of Exploding Snap?"  

"Er… yeah, sure," Harry mumbled, glad for the excuse – he felt incredibly guilty, witnessing Hermione's misery; at the same time he was strongly and unpleasantly reminded of Cho Chang.  Ron, Neville, Luna, and Ginny seemed similarly stricken; Neville in particular looked afraid to move.  Luna's customary dreamy expression had morphed into one of concern, and Ron looked as uneasy as Harry felt.

Harry beckoned to the others and headed for the stairway.  Ron looked unwilling to follow, apparently wanting to comfort Hermione as Ginny had tried to do, but Mrs. Weasley shooed him away and he followed Harry up the stairs.

"D'you think she's okay?"  Ron whispered to Harry as they climbed up the attic ladder.

"I don't know; I hope so," Harry whispered back.  He hoisted himself through the trapdoor, helped Ron up, and sank into one of the squashy armchairs in the pseudo-common room.  "I don't know what I did to make her so upset," he said aloud.

"Oh, Harry, it wasn't you," Ginny said.  "It was…" she paused.  "Well, it was a bit of a shock for her – for both of us.  I mean, we knew that the Dursleys weren't exactly a loving family, but we had no idea that they were like that… I guess we assumed that they had at least given you a decent bedroom."

"But Hermione knew they were like that!"  Harry protested.  "And I've always told her about them and how awful they are."

"Not exactly, mate," Ron spoke up suddenly.  "I mean, you've told _me_ what they were like scores of times, but I've never heard you say much about them to her, unless you've owled her about them before."

This gave Harry pause.  Come to think of it, Ron was right – most conversations he had about the Dursleys took place in their dormitory when Hermione wasn't present, and he'd never given many details in his owls to her.  "Look at the summer before fourth year – she knew I was being forced to follow Dudley's diet; they were practically starving me," Harry pointed out.  "She sent me a box of snacks and a birthday cake so I wouldn't go hungry."  

"But you were getting food," Ginny objected.  "You weren't being starved, exactly.  And I remember reading the letter you sent Ron; it didn't sound like they were being too horrible, it just sounded like they wanted you to go along with the diet for Dudley's sake, not out of any malice toward you."

"Well, that's true, that's why we all had to follow that stupid diet – even Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia – " Harry paused, feeling more foolish than ever.  "I still don't see why she was so upset.  It doesn't bother me any and I'm the one who has to live with them!"

"That's different," Luna piped up.  "You've had fifteen years to get used to it; she's had fifteen minutes."

Neville, who'd been silently listening to the conversation, shook his head.  "Give it up, Harry – girls are hard to understand.  Maybe you can talk to her later after she's calmed down."

"Okay," Harry agreed grudgingly, giving a worried glance to the attic trapdoor.  He hoped Hermione had stopped crying.

Ron pulled a pack of Exploding Snap cards from his pocket.  "Come on, let's play."

~ end of Chapter 3 ~


	4. Chapter 4 What Every Young Wizard Shoul...

Chapter 4: What Every Young Wizard Should Know 

They played four games of Exploding Snap before the attic trapdoor opened and Bill climbed up.  "How's Hermione?"  Harry asked instantly, dropping his cards.

"She's okay," Bill replied.  He was carrying a small paper bag with him, which he set down next to Harry's chair.  "After she stopped crying, Dumbledore talked to her for a while, and that seemed to help.  She's already Flooed home, though."

"She went home?  But she didn't even say goodbye!"  Harry protested.

"Don't worry, Harry – she said she'd Floo in tomorrow to talk to you, if you like; just send her an owl and you can arrange it."  Bill's glance shifted to the others.  "Luna, Neville, I'm afraid it's time for you to go – it's nearly five o'clock.  Ron, Ginny – why don't you go down with them; I want to talk to Harry."

Ron gave Bill a strange look but acquiesced at the severe glance his brother gave him.  Harry, despite his confusion, couldn't help but be amused – Bill could look a heck of a lot like Mr. Weasley at times. 

Neville and Luna wished Harry a very happy birthday and then descended down the trapdoor, followed by Ron and Ginny.  "I still don't understand why Hermione was so upset," Harry said, sinking back into a comfortable chair as Bill pulled up a chair and sat opposite him.

"Harry, you have to understand that Hermione's growing up," Bill said seriously.  "She's becoming a young woman, and sometimes girls get – well, rather emotional during this time in their lives."

Harry blushed in spite of himself.  "I… I suppose so," he muttered, squirming, again realizing how much Hermione had changed physically over the last year.  Gone was the skinny little girl with the buckteeth and bushy hair – in her place was a lovely young woman with a pretty smile and quite a good figure.  Harry felt stupid for not having noticed those changes before.  

"Moreover," Bill continued, "you're one of her dearest friends, and I'm sure it hurt her to see – in person – how much the Dursleys mistreat you.  Sometimes things don't seem _real_ until you've had a firsthand view."

Harry nodded, thinking of how Hogwarts hadn't seemed like a real place until he'd actually arrived at the castle.  "You said she talked with Professor Dumbledore?"

"Yes," Bill confirmed. "He explained about the ancient magic that safeguards you as long as you live with your aunt, and, once Hermione realized you were there for a good reason, she was able to accept it."  

"Good," Harry said, relieved that he was spared the job of explaining Dumbledore's security measures.

"There's something else I wanted to speak to you about, Harry," Bill said, clearing his throat.  Harry noticed he seemed slightly uncomfortable – he was fidgeting in his chair and fingering his earring nervously.  "You know, ever since you first visited the Burrow, Mum and Dad have considered you a member of the family.  And I have to say that since I met you, and given how much the rest of the family talks about you, I think of you as another little brother."

Harry flushed, oddly touched and embarrassed at the same time.  "Thanks," he said awkwardly.

"Well, er… Sirius had planned to talk with you this summer, but since he… can't, I told Dad I would – one brother to another."  Bill reached for the brown paper bag next to Harry's chair.  He drew a thin book from the bag and handed it to Harry.  

Harry took the book and glanced at it.  The words _What Every Young Witch and Wizard Should Know_ by Justin Case were emblazoned on the cover, which also featured a young witch and wizard alternately blushing and trying to hide their faces behind their wands.  

"You see, the parents of Muggleborns usually receive an owl from Hogwarts at the end of fourth year, giving them a letter and this book.  However…" Bill glanced out the attic window in the direction of 4 Privet Drive, "we suspected your uncle probably wouldn't make any kind of effort to speak with you, which is why the Dursleys didn't get the customary letter.  Sirius didn't get a chance to speak with you before you left Grimmauld place last summer, and he'd planned to do so this summer."

"Talk to me about what?"  Harry asked hesitantly, afraid that he already knew the answer.

"Well…you're growing up too, Harry, and we know your uncle can't be counted on to explain… certain things to you.  Now, as you can imagine," Bill said, a self-conscious half-smile on his face, "sex works about the same in the Wizarding world as in the Muggle world.  Contraception, however, is a bit different.  Am I correct in assuming that your uncle hasn't talked to you at all?"

"No, he hasn't said a word," Harry said, horrified at the very thought of Uncle Vernon attempted to speak with him about something like this.  The very thought made him feel ill.  "But I, er… I know I good bit already," he said lamely, feeling his face and ears burn with embarrassment.

"I'm sure you do," Bill said tactfully, not mentioning that the muted whispers of the boys in Harry's dormitory and overheard conversations in the boys' lavatory might not be the best sources of information.  "But we just want to make sure that you have all the facts, and that you know you can come to me, Dad, or Remus Lupin if you have any questions about… well, about anything."    

"I… er, I…" Harry stammered, blushing furiously.  He couldn't imagine talking to Mr. Weasley about his love life, not if he wanted Mrs. Weasley to know it all too – and the thought of his best friend's mum knowing details about his intimate life was too horrifying to contemplate.  As for Lupin, it would be like he was telling personal stuff to a _teacher_, even if Lupin wasn't his teacher anymore.  Bill… well, Bill maybe, he _was_ a pretty cool guy, but how did he know Bill wouldn't gossip with Ron or, even worse, Mrs. Weasley about what Harry told him?

Bill smiled as though he was listening to the thoughts running rampant in Harry's mind.  "Now, I can't speak for Dad or Lupin, but I can assure you that anything you tell me will be held in the strictest confidence.  Brother to brother."  His smile widened.  "Just ask Percy how well I can keep a secret."

"P-Percy?"  Harry asked, startled.

"During your entire second year, he bombarded me with owls asking for advice about his relationship with Penelope.  He figured I was the only safe one in the family since I'd been a Head Boy and I was hundreds of kilometres away from everyone else – namely Fred and George."  Bill winked, his brown eyes twinkling impishly.  "You're the first one I've told… though since Percy still isn't on speaking terms with anyone in the family, I doubt he'd care."

"Wait…" Harry saw the chance to change the subject and jumped on it.  "You mean Percy is still being a git?"

Bill's smile faded and was replaced with an embittered scowl.  "Unfortunately, yes, as far as we can tell.  Mum and Dad both sent him owls soon after the initial Daily Prophet article about You-Know-Who's return was published, but he hasn't replied, nor does he acknowledge Dad at work.  I saw him at Gringotts once, but he ignored me."

"But how can he still act this way?"  Harry cried, anger welling up inside of him as he remembered Mrs. Weasley's tears the preceding Christmas, when Percy had sent his Weasley jumper back unopened.  "Your Mum and Dad – they've been proven right!  _I've _been proven right – so has Dumbledore!  How can he still think that we're delusional?"

Bill shook his head sadly.  "I don't know, Harry.  He said some pretty horrible things to Dad and he probably has too much pride to back down, even when he was proven wrong.  We may never know."  His voice dropped slightly.  "It's upsetting Mum something awful… she's worried that Percy may even be misled into joining You-Know-Who's ranks, after having been under Fudge's influence for an entire year."

"_Percy_?  A _Death Eater_?"  Harry said, astounded.  "Surely you don't think that he would… he's not _that_ stupid, is he?  And Fudge isn't in league with Voldemort…" (Bill flinched, but Harry ignored him) "…right?"

"He's not, but this Muggleborn bigotry of his…" Bill looked worried.  "If he's passed that on to Percy, it's a small leap from pureblood racism to becoming a Death Eater – look at Sirius' brother.  Everyone knew the Blacks were bigoted when it came to Muggleborns, but no one ever expected… especially once Voldemort started killing…" Bill trailed off, his handsome face grave.  "I don't know.  I'd like to think that Percy would never… but… I just don't know."

"What a git," Harry muttered.

A sad smile touched Bill's face.  "I just hope he sees the error of his ways soon."   He rose from his chair and clapped Harry on the shoulder.  "Well, as I said… read the book, Harry, and if you have any questions, you know who to ask, all right?"

"Yeah, okay," Harry said, relieved that this somewhat awkward conversation was over.  He stuffed the book into his pocket and followed Bill down the attic ladder and into the living room, where he found that, other than Bill, only Mrs. Figg and Dumbledore remained.  

"Did you have a good birthday, Harry?"  Mrs. Figg asked, smiling warmly.  

"Yes, it was brilliant," Harry said gratefully.  "Thanks a lot, Mrs. Figg."

Mrs. Figg fussed with her hairnet, looking pleased.  "Oh, don't mention it, dear; it makes a pleasant change, being a decent neighbour instead of the batty old woman who tortures you with pictures of her dead cats."  Harry flushed guiltily; he wondered if he'd inadvertently insulted her in the past during the times he'd been forced to stay at her place after the Dursleys dumped him there.

"Now, you just arrange by owl when you and your friends want to have a visit," Mrs. Figg continued, "and they'll owl me with the time they'll Floo in.  If that great git of an uncle of yours gives you any trouble, you just send Hedwig and I'll handle _him_."  She finished her statement with an emphatic nod.  

Harry choked back a laugh, wondering if she'd bonk Uncle Vernon over the head with a handbag full of cat food, like she had Mundungus Fletcher last summer.  "Don't worry; I won't have any trouble from him.  All I have to do is threaten to write Moody and he backs off."

"Good lad," Mrs. Figg said approvingly.

Dumbledore chuckled.  "Indeed.  I'm sure Alastor will be gratified to know that his threats have reached Vernon Dursley.  Now, I'm afraid I must be off.  But before I go, Harry, there remains one last gift."

"_Another_ one?"  Harry said, feeling dazed – already he'd received more birthday presents than he ever had before.  

"It's not quite a gift, however – merely something that should be returned to you."  And with a smile, Dumbledore reached behind Mrs. Figg's doily-covered couch and pulled out a broomstick.

"My _Firebolt_!"  Harry shouted, only half-aware that he'd yelled.  He snatched his beloved broomstick out of Dumbledore's arms and examined it minutely, relieved that it still seemed to be in mint condition.

"It would have been returned to you at the close of last term, but Professors Flitwick and McGonagall and Madam Hooch wanted to make certain that Dolores Umbridge hadn't placed any curses or hexes upon it," Dumbledore explained.  Harry noticed his soft blue eyes grow colder when Umbridge's name was mentioned.  "As it was, they did discover a Hurling Hex, no doubt placed after Misters Fred and George Weasley absconded with their own brooms.  Likely she wanted to ascertain that you could not fly your broom if you were able to somehow recover it."

Harry's hand tightened around his Firebolt's handle.  "Stupid old cow," he muttered, to the amusement of both Bill and Mrs. Figg.

Dumbledore appeared oblivious to Harry's comment, but his eyes were once again twinkling with merriment.  "Madam Hooch also insisted upon giving your broom a thorough tune-up and waxing, as it was in rather poor condition after spending some of last term in the dungeons."

"I'll have to thank her once I get back," Harry said, rubbing his hand on the Firebolt's gleaming handle.  This broom was one of the few things he had left of Sirius, and he would have cursed Dolores Umbridge into next week if his broom had been given back to him in such poor condition.

"And since you shouldn't be seen walking around a Muggle neighborhood with a broomstick…"  Dumbledore lifted a crocheted doily off the arm of Mrs. Figg's ratty sofa.  "_Portus_," he murmured, touching the doily with his wand.  It glowed blue for an instant, then Dumbledore held it out to him.  "This will take you into the Dursleys' front hall."

Harry looked at Dumbledore in surprise.  "Er – isn't that Portkey, um, unauthorized, sir?" he asked uncertainly, remembering Fudge's fury at the Ministry of Magic when Dumbledore had created an unauthorized Portkey to transport him, Harry, back to Hogwarts.

Dumbledore smiled.  "Minister Fudge has granted me a great deal of discretion in regard to Portkeys."  He continued, mildly, "In fact, he has decided that it's best to leave me to my own devices as far as my students are concerned."

Harry grinned.  "I understand, sir."  He reached out and touched the doily.  

"All right, then," Dumbledore said.  "Have a good summer, Harry; I'll be in touch.  Three… two… one…"

Harry felt a jerk behind his navel, and in a moment Mrs. Figg's living room dissolved and the Dursleys' front hall materialized around him.

Thankfully, it was empty – Harry could just imagine the uproar if he appeared out of nowhere in front of the Dursleys. He stuffed the doily in his pocket and crept to the front door.  He opened it quietly and shut it firmly.  As expected, he heard Aunt Petunia's shrill voice.  "So you're back, are you?" 

"Yes, Aunt Petunia," Harry called, suppressing a snicker at the thought of her face had she seen how he'd _really_ arrived.

She bustled into the entryway, stopping short at the sight of his Firebolt.  "What is _that_?" she gasped, eyeing it suspiciously. 

"My broomstick," Harry answered calmly.  "I left it at school last term.  I saw my headmaster today and he returned it to me."

"You'd better take that up to your room before Vernon gets home," Aunt Petunia warned distrustfully. "I won't tell him that your friends were here today, but I don't want any more of… _your_ kind… in this house, do you hear?"

Harry shrugged.  "All right."   As she swept back into the kitchen, he turned and started up the stairs.  Halfway up, he was blocked by Dudley.  As his cousin's formidable bulk took up the entire stairwell, Harry couldn't go around him.

"What do _you_ want?"  Harry said rudely.

"Who was that girl?" Dudley asked.  "The one you brought here today?"  

"I brought three girls here today," Harry replied coolly.  "Which one d'you mean?"

Dudley glared at him.  "You know.  The blonde."  

"Her?"  Harry said archly.  "Oh, that was Luna Lovegood.  She's a year younger than me… her dad owns a magazine called _The Quibbler_.  She's one of the smartest witches at Hogwarts."

Dudley's eyes narrowed at this information.  "And what's… Kibitz?"  Harry gave him a puzzled glance, and Dudley tried again.  "Er… Kidditch?"

"Oh – it's Quidditch," Harry corrected.  "It's a wizarding sport.  Played on broomsticks."  He indicated his Firebolt.  "Like this one."

"And you play, do you?"  Dudley asked suspiciously.

"As a matter of fact, I do."  Harry could help feeling puffed up with pride as he thought about the Gryffindor team.  "My team has held the Quidditch Cup at school the last three years," he added, deliberately neglecting to mention that the Quidditch Cup wasn't held during his fourth year, or that he hadn't gotten a chance to play for the Cup during his fifth year due to Umbridge's Quidditch ban.  

Dudley made an odd sound in his throat, and Harry smirked at his cousin's expression of distaste.  "My dad played it, too."  He smiled toothily at Dudley.  "I have a book about it, if you want to learn more."

He made the offer partly in jest, expecting Dudley to be horrified and repulsed when confronted with anything from the wizarding world, as usual.  To his astonishment, Dudley considered his words and said, "Okay.  Go and get it, then."

Harry gaped at his cousin.  "You… you _want_ to borrow it?  It's a wizarding book, you know – the pictures move."

"I know," Dudley said obstinately.  

"And, er… it's not an easy read," Harry said, wondering if Dudley _could_ read.  He'd never seen him even try before.  

"I'll make do," Dudley said, folding his stout arms across his chest.

"Well… all right, then," Harry said cautiously, wondering if this was a colossal practical joke.  "Come on."  

Dudley followed Harry into his bedroom, and waited at the door while Harry (who first took care to lean his Firebolt gently against the wall) unlocked his trunk and pulled out _Quidditch Through the Ages_.  Harry hesitated before handing it over; it _was_ one of his favourites… maybe Dudley knew that, somehow… "Just so you know, this book is jinxed," he lied.  "If it's damaged, or stolen… well, it won't be pretty."

His cousin paled noticeably at this, but said, "Fine.  I won't hurt it."  

"Okay," Harry relented, handing it over.  "Why do you want to read about Quidditch, anyway?"

To his great amusement, Dudley's porky face flushed red.  "No reason," he mumbled, backing out into the hallway.  "Just… want to know what all the fuss is about."  He went into his own room and shut the door.

Harry shook his head.  And he'd thought _last_ summer had been weird, what with Aunt Petunia talking about Dementors and Azkaban.  Now Dudley wanted to learn about Quidditch.  What next, Uncle Vernon going shopping in Diagon Alley?

_Not bloody likely_, Harry thought with an inward snicker, flopping down on the bed.  The small book in his pocket jabbed into his hip, and he pulled it out.  Contrary to what he'd told Bill, he really _didn't_ know all that much about… er… adult things.  His main sources had been the muted whispers of Dean and Seamus in the dormitory at Hogwarts, and he didn't think they were as experienced as they claimed to be.

Harry stared at the book, suddenly feeling a well of bitterness bubble up inside his chest.  He shouldn't have to learn these things from Bill… or from a book.  It should be his dad, or Sirius.  His _family_. (But _not_ Uncle Vernon – Harry suppressed a shudder at the thought of what _that_ conversation would be like.)  Voldemort had robbed him of that right, just as he'd robbed Harry of so many other things.  Not for the first time, Harry resolved to fulfill that damn prophecy if it was the last thing he did.

With a sigh, he opened the book and began to read.

~ end of Chapter 4 ~


	5. Chapter 5 Power the Dark Lord Knows Not

Chapter 5:  Power the Dark Lord Knows Not 

_What Every Young Witch and Wizard Should Know_ was… interesting, but Harry doubted he'd have much need of any of the various contraceptive charms and potions it talked about – not anytime soon, anyway, not the way his luck with girls had gone so far.  He'd kissed one girl and ended up alienating her soon after, and he didn't think his luck would be changing anytime soon.

Not only that, but any girlfriend of his would almost certainly end up becoming a target for Voldemort and his Death Eaters.  It simply wouldn't be a good idea for him to enter into any kind of serious relationship until Voldemort had been taken care of.  Harry grimaced; it was quickly becoming far too depressing, thinking of all the ways Voldemort had screwed up his life so far. 

With a sigh, he closed the book and threw it in his trunk, picking up _Magical Plants and Their Defensive Uses_ instead.  He was reading about the Venomous Tentacula (useful for pushing your enemies into, as the teeth contained a paralyzing agent) when he heard the front door open and Uncle Vernon call, "Petunia, I'm home!"  A few minutes later he was stumping up the stairs.  

Harry heard him open the door to Dudley's room.  "Say, Dudders, there's a boxing match on the telly tonight.  How about you and I – " An ominous silence followed.  

"HARRY POTTER!  GET IN HERE, _NOW_!" Uncle Vernon's bellow thundered through the upstairs.

With a gulp, Harry slid off his bed and went to Dudley's room.  Uncle Vernon was holding _Quidditch Through the Ages_, and Dudley was sitting on his bed, staring sullenly at the floor.  "Yes, Uncle Vernon?"  Harry asked nervously.

Uncle Vernon brandished the book at him so violently that Harry had to jump to the side to avoid getting smashed in the face.  "WHAT – IS – _THIS_?"  Uncle Vernon shouted angrily, spittle flying across the room.

Harry drew himself up to his full height – over the school year, he'd grown so much that he was now as tall as his uncle – and steeled himself against Uncle Vernon's ire, answering as calmly as he could and looking his uncle straight in the eye.  "That's one of my books."  

As he spoke, Aunt Petunia appeared at the bedroom door, panting slightly, her pale eyes wide with alarm.  She looked from Dudley to Harry to Vernon, and recoiled at the look of fury on her husband's face.  "Vernon…" she whispered.

"AND WHAT IS ONE OF _YOUR_ BOOKS DOING IN DUDLEY'S ROOM?" his uncle roared, ignoring the presence of his wife.

"I lent it to him," Harry said coolly.  "He asked to borrow it."

Uncle Vernon let out a short burst of laughter that sounded like a bark. "He _asked_ to borrow it, did he?  Rubbish! Dudley doesn't read – he's an _athlete_, not some swotty little bookworm!  And even if he _did_ want to read, it wouldn't be one of _your_ books.  You're lying, boy!"

"Go on, ask him," Harry said with a shrug.  He knew Dudley would lie about it, but he didn't care – Uncle Vernon could bluster all he wanted to, but one mention of Moody and he'd quickly shut up.

"Well, Dudley?"  Uncle Vernon looked expectantly at his son.

To Harry's great surprise, Dudley stood up and muttered defiantly, "It's true."

Aunt Petunia gasped.  Uncle Vernon's jaw dropped, and then he wheeled on Harry.  "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO MY SON?!" he howled, shaking a beefy fist in Harry's face.  "You've bewitched him, I know you have!"

"I have not!"  Harry said angrily.

"He has not!"  Dudley protested at the same time.  His parents' eyes flew toward him, but Dudley didn't back down.  At the moment, Harry was feeling just as stunned at Dudley's behavior as his aunt and uncle.  

Dudley squared his porky shoulders.  "I'm not bewitched, or under any curse, or anything like that, Dad.  Honest.  I – I heard a g – er, one of his friends talking about this sport, and I was curious, so I asked him – "

"FRIENDS?"  Uncle Vernon sputtered, tossing the book onto Dudley's desk and eyeing the moving Quidditch player on the front malevolently.  "Wha – what friends?  When have YOU met _HIS_ friends?"

"A couple of my friends came over earlier today," Harry supplied.  He'd hoped to keep their visit secret from his uncle, but it was going to come out eventually, so it might as well be from him.

Uncle Vernon's eyes were blazing with fury.  "WHAT HAVE I TOLD YOU, BOY – I DON'T WANT YOUR KIND IN THIS HOUSE!"

"Oh, lighten up, Vernon," Harry said impatiently.  "It is my birthday, after all. They threw a surprise party for me at Mrs. Figg's, and they helped me carry my gifts over here.  They were in the house less than ten minutes."

"Why – I – you – " Uncle Vernon whirled to face Aunt Petunia, who was standing still as a statue in the doorway.  "Did you know about this?!  Did you know that his lot were in the house?"

Aunt Petunia swallowed, her eyes darting to Harry, then Dudley.  "I – " She swallowed again.  "I knew."

"And you ALLOWED them in here?"  

"For – for heaven sakes, Vernon, they were only children," Aunt Petunia said nervously.  "I m-met them and they seemed harmless enough.  And they weren't in the house very long."

Uncle Vernon's eyes bored into her like one of the drills at Grunnings.  "But why?"  he fumed.  "WHY did you allow it?"

"I couldn't help it, Vernon," Aunt Petunia said faintly, her face the colour of curdled milk.  "There – there was a girl with him… she looked just like Lily, it flustered me so…"

"Aunt Petunia, maybe you had better sit down," Harry said uncertainly; his aunt looked like she was going to pass out.

"Now listen here, boy!"  Vernon boomed, whirling on Harry as Aunt Petunia dropped on to Dudley's bed, covering her face with her hands.  Dudley tentatively put his arm around her.  "You – 

"No, YOU listen, Vernon!"  Harry yelled, fed up with his uncle's blustering harangues and bigoted attitude.  "I've had it up to here – " he punched the air a few inches above his head, " – with your attitude toward me _and_ my world!  D'you think I wanted my parents murdered by a psychopath?  D'you think I wanted to have to live here with you?  NO!  I didn't want it any more then you did, but that's what happened, and we can't change it!  Yes, I'm a wizard! Yes, I do magic! But what has magic ever done to you, huh?  How has it ever hurt you?"

"IT HURT MY WIFE, POTTER!"  Vernon shouted, his eyes bulging in his face.  Aunt Petunia uttered a soft cry and started to sob.  "IT HURT MY WIFE, AND IT DAMN WELL HURT ME TOO!"

"What are you talking about?"  Harry asked, staring at his uncle with mingled fascination and suspicion.  He'd seen Uncle Vernon angry, furious, and even enraged – but he'd never seen him like this.  There was something on his face that went beyond rage.

His uncle thrust his face to within inches of Harry's.  "Haven't you ever wondered, boy," Uncle Vernon hissed vehemently, "why Petunia is the _only_ relative that you have left?  Don't you ever wonder what happened to your grandparents?"

"Yes!  Yes, I have wondered – but anytime I said anything, you told me not to ask questions!"  Harry retorted.

Vernon smirked.  "It figures you wouldn't even bother to try and find out what happened to them – how and why they died," he said viciously.  "Shows how much you really want to know about them."  

"WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?"  Harry bellowed, losing all patience.

"Our _wedding_, Potter," Vernon spat.  "Some of _your kind_ came to _our wedding_ and started waving those wands around.  They came for your father and mother, but they got Petunia's parents instead!"

Harry's mind reeled.  He opened his mouth and closed it again, aware that he probably looked like some odd sort of fish.  He turned to his aunt, struggling to bring his temper under control so he could speak to her without yelling.  "Aunt Petunia, is this true?"  he asked, his voice gruff from shouting.

Aunt Petunia removed her hands from her tearstained face and looked at Harry, an expression of pure anguish on her face.  Harry had never in his life seen her look like that.  "Yes, it's true," she said hoarsely.  "Your mother had just graduated the year before; she was engaged to your father – she brought him to the wedding – and right after the ceremony all these men in black cloaks and white masks appeared and started shouting – and shooting bolts of light – they were aiming for your parents but got _my_ parents instead – " She began to shake violently.  "They sent something up into the air – a green skull, and a snake.  It glowed – lit up the whole yard – it was horrible."  

Harry sucked in his breath, his eyes wide with horror.  Aunt Petunia had to stop and compose herself.  "Afterwards," she continued, shakily, "more wizards came, they erased the memories of the guests – I heard your father tell Lily that the men they caught were going to Azkaban, and the Dementors would keep them there forever – " She burst into a fresh round of tears.

Harry turned back to Uncle Vernon.  "I didn't know," he said quietly, horror-struck.  For once, he felt nothing but sincere compassion for his Muggle relatives. "I'm sorry.  I didn't know."

"Now do you see, boy?"  Uncle Vernon asked disgustedly.  "I never wanted anything to do with your kind ever again, but unfortunately we got landed with you when your parents blew themselves up – "

"They didn't blow themselves up!"  Harry snapped, his temper blazing again.  "They were murdered by Lord Voldemort, just like my grandparents."  He whipped his wand out of his shirt and pointed it at his uncle, who gasped and backed away.  

"Now you listen to me, and you listen good," Harry growled, sounding, to his ears, an awful lot like Mad-Eye Moody.  "My parents were not responsible for the death of my grandparents.  Lord Voldemort is the one at fault – _he_ was the one who ordered that attack; my parents had nothing to do with it.  They didn't ask to become his targets; they were just brave enough to stand against him.  They were trying to make the world safe for people like _you_.  And I'll have you know that just because a few wizards are evil doesn't mean they all are.  I don't think all Muggles are bad just because I've had to live with you."

Uncle Vernon swelled indignantly and opened his mouth, but shut it hurriedly as Harry jabbed his wand at him.  "I'm not finished yet!" he said fiercely.  "Lord Voldemort has been after me my entire life.  So far I've escaped him five times – five!  And I've lost people I love, too."  He swallowed.  "He killed my parents, he killed my friend Cedric, and he – he and his Death Eaters killed my godfather a few weeks ago.  I watched all those deaths happen."  

Aunt Petunia let out a strangled gasp.  Dudley seemed to be frozen in place, and Uncle Vernon was glaring at him suspiciously.

"Every time he's attacked me, I've narrowly escaped with my life.  And what do I come back to?  THIS!"  Harry gestured wildly.  "I come back here, and I have to put up with your slurs against wizards, and your insults about Hogwarts, and your rudeness to me.  And I'm telling you, I'm not putting up with it any more!  The only reason I'm here is because of _them_."  He jabbed his wand toward Aunt Petunia and Dudley.  "They have my mother's blood, and as long as I live with them, Voldemort can't touch me here.  He can't touch _you_ here, either.  Voldemort can't come near this house unless I can't call it home."

Uncle Vernon simply stared at his nephew, the veins in his forehead bulging dangerously.

"That's what _he_ said," Aunt Petunia said suddenly, breaking the silence.  "In his letter, the one that was with you the night you came here."

"Dumbledore," Harry said, more of a statement than a question.  Aunt Petunia nodded.  "Well, then, you know I'm telling the truth."

"What of it?"  Vernon growled.  

"It means that I have to stay here to keep _you – _and Dudley, and Aunt Petunia – safe.  And if I'm going to stay here, some things have to change," Harry announced calmly.  "Number one:  if you don't bother me, I won't bother you.  Number two:  you won't question me or otherwise comment when I choose to go somewhere for the day, nor will you attempt to restrict my comings and goings or harass those I visit.  Number three – "

"Now see here, boy!"  Uncle Vernon blustered. "I won't stand here while you – "

"NUMBER THREE," Harry shouted determinedly, ignoring his uncle's protests, "you don't have to like me – you don't even have to pretend to like me – but you _will_ treat me with respect.  And if you do, I will return the courtesy."  He looked levelly at his uncle.  "Do we understand each other, Vernon?"

"That's enough," his uncle said hotly, his hands balling into fists at his side.  "You have no right to call me by my name like that – "

"You're _not_ my uncle," Harry cut in, "so I won't call you 'Uncle' any longer.  I will call you 'Vernon' or 'sir,' all right?  In turn, you will call me 'Harry,' not 'boy' or 'Potter.'"

Uncle Vernon ground his teeth, but didn't answer.  Finally, after exchanging a glance with his wife, he gave Harry a stiff nod.  

"All right, then."  Harry replaced his wand in his pocket.  "Now that we're clear on that, I'm going back to my room.  Aunt Petunia, I'm not hungry, so I won't be coming down for supper.  Dudley, keep the book as long as you need to.  If you have any questions about Quidditch, you know where I am."  He turned and, brushing past Uncle Vernon, strode out of the room and into his own.

Inside his own room, Harry felt shaky and weak, as though he'd just battled with a Dementor.  He dug through his trunk until he found one of the boxes that contained Mrs. Weasley's homemade fudge.  As he munched the chocolate, he felt a bit better – but he couldn't stop replaying in his head what Vernon and his aunt and told him.

He remembered asking Aunt Petunia about his mother's parents once – he couldn't have been more than six or seven.  Her face had gone white, then red, and then she'd shouted at him not to ask questions and sent him to his cupboard without supper.  Since then, he'd never dared ask about them.  He didn't even know their names.

He grabbed his leather-bound photo album and flipped through the pictures, but he didn't see any that might have been of his mother's parents.  No wonder, since they'd been Muggles – he didn't even know if Muggles could appear in wizarding photos.  

He stopped at the photo of his parents' wedding.  His mum, dad, and Sirius looked so happy – what if their wedding had been interrupted by Death Eaters?  Would they look as happy as they did?  For the first time, he fully understood why his aunt and uncle hated wizards so much – and he also understood why there were no other pictures in the house except for those of Dudley.  He'd wondered about that before – there were no portraits of relatives, no framed pictures of his aunt and uncle's wedding day, just Dudley learning to crawl, Dudley breaking his first model airplane, Dudley on his first day of school… 

He remembered the hatred he'd felt for Sirius when he'd been under the mistaken impression that Sirius had betrayed his parents.  To Vernon and Aunt Petunia, his mother and father had betrayed their trust by inviting danger into their wedding – danger that culminated with the tragic death of his grandparents and turned what should have been a happy day into tragedy.  Would he hate wizards any less in that position?  Maybe – but maybe not.  

And, also for the first time, he understood something else.  Uncle Vernon loved Aunt Petunia.  That had been eminently clear when Uncle Vernon had yelled, "He hurt my wife!"  The look on his face – pure rage, utter fury – he imagined he might look the same when those he loved were threatened.

What struck Harry, however, was the love.  Lord Voldemort knew nothing of love – it was a concept foreign to him.  That oversight had brought about his first downfall, when he forgot about the love Lily Potter had for her son.  In the same way, it was love – twisted, perhaps, but love nonetheless – which motivated his uncle's behaviour.  Wizards had hurt his wife; therefore, out of love for her, he hated wizards and wanted nothing to do with them.

So as reprehensible as Vernon was, he still loved.  He valued his family – he loved his wife; he loved his son.  He didn't love Harry, but Harry didn't care.  He found it difficult to muster up much contempt for Vernon when people like Lucius Malfoy, Bellatrix Lestrange, and Lord Voldemort existed.  Vernon was a selfish, boorish, ignorant individual – but he could love, still had the _capacity_ for love, which put him heads and tails above Lord Voldemort.  And if Harry could deal with Lord Voldemort, he could certainly deal with Vernon Dursley.

And, Harry mused, it wasn't like he was lacking for love now.  Ron, Hermione, Mrs. Weasley, even Dumbledore – the list went on.  Perhaps he had lacked love from the day his parents died until he went to Hogwarts, but no longer.  His birthday party today had been plain evidence of that.  Love had brought him to the Department of Mysteries – love had saved him when Voldemort tried to possess him. Love was one thing Harry possessed which Voldemort did not.

Suddenly, Harry bolted up in bed.  "'_He will have power the Dark Lord knows not_,'" he quoted, breathing heavily.  "That's it – that's what I have that he doesn't.  It's love."  He flopped back down on his pillows, staring up at the plastered ceiling.  "But how am I supposed to defeat him with love?" he wondered aloud.  "I can't love _him_." 

As much as he pondered the problem, he couldn't come up with an answer.  His head was aching again, and he'd had an early morning and a busy day – he was too tired to think.  He'd consider it more tomorrow… he was too tired… he was… he was…

He was asleep.

And for the first night in a long while, he didn't dream.

~ end of Chapter 5 ~


	6. Chapter 6 Change in Command

**Chapter 6 - Change in Command**

Harry slept long and soundly, and woke up feeling as though he'd had a decent night's sleep - something he hadn't felt in months, not since long before the O.W.L.s. He stretched and yawned, glancing at his alarm clock. It was 7:00am - he'd slept well over twelve hours. 

He stretched and yawned, remembering the events of yesterday afternoon with a warm glow. His first ever birthday party - and all his friends there to celebrate with him. His eyes wandered to the owl stand, upon which Hedwig sat, staring at him serenely. That owl stand really was an impressive piece of work - he wondered when Ron had learned to use those Muggle tools. Maybe Hermione had sent him a book that showed him how...

_Hermione_. Harry sat up with a start. He'd intended to write to her last night, but had completely forgotten amid the turmoil with the Dursleys. Hurriedly, he rose from the bed and sat down at his desk, grabbing a clean piece of parchment and a quill. He scribbled: 

_Hermione,_

Thanks again for the birthday gift. The book looks fascinating and I can hardly wait to start it. It'll come in handy for N.E.W.T. preparation.

I hope you're feeling better today. Bill said that Dumbledore talked to you and explained things. I hope you understand why I have to stay here. And as I said, it's not so bad. Last night, Dudley was acting like a human being for once. 

I ended up having a big row with the Dursleys last night and found out some things that sort of explain why they act the way they do. But I think I've finally reached an understanding with Vernon - if he leaves me alone, I'll leave him alone.

Can you come to Mrs. Figg's, maybe today or tomorrow, so we can talk about it?

Let me know.

Harry

When finished, he read the letter over and nodded in satisfaction. It'd do. He tied the letter to Hedwig's leg. 

"It's for Hermione," he told her. She hooted once and flew out the window. 

Harry went down for breakfast - where all the Dursleys ignored him, and he them. He returned to his bedroom carrying a few pieces of bacon rind, which he deposited in Hedwig's cage. He knew she missed eating from his breakfast plate as she did almost every morning at Hogwarts. 

He pulled _So You Want to Eradicate the Dark Forces: A Preparation Guide for the Auror Training Entrance Exams_ from his trunk and, flopping down on his bed, began to read. 

He was so immersed in the book that he didn't notice when Hedwig swooped through his window until she landed on her owl stand and started hooting loudly.

"_That - ruddy - owl_!" he heard Uncle Vernon bellow from downstairs. Harry smiled grimly. "Let's see you come up here and start complaining, Vernon," he muttered, but he didn't hear Vernon's telltale stomp on the stairs. A few minutes later, the door slammed and Harry knew that he'd gone to Grunnings.

On Hedwig's leg, he found a reply from Hermione.

_Harry,_

Thank you for your note. I'm glad you like your gift - though I have to confess that I read it too, before I gave it to you. It's absolutely fascinating; I learned loads about the Auror exams. 

I got a letter from Ron this morning, and he suggested that we Floo to Mrs. Figg's at two today to see you. How about if I Floo over at one? That way we can talk before Ron gets there. Call Mrs. Figg to check if it's okay, and if so I'll meet you there at one. If there's a problem, send Hedwig to me and I can let Ron know.

See you soon (I hope),

Hermione

Harry sighed, feeling immensely relieved. Good - he could talk with Hermione today and get everything straightened out. And he'd get to see Ron, too. This summer was turning out to be a lot better than he'd expected.

* * *

A few hours later, he arrived at Mrs. Figg's. His neighbour ushered him into the living room, where he found that Hermione had already arrived and was brushing soot off of her skirt. "Hi, Harry!" she said, brightening when he walked in.

"Hi," Harry replied. "Hey, I started reading the book you gave me this morning - you're right, it's really great."

"Oh, I know," Hermione said breathlessly, plopping down on the couch. Harry followed suit, sitting next to her. "Tonks says it's the best preparation guide there is; she said she never would have gotten through her tests without it, especially Stealth and Tracking, that's chapter six..." She continued in this vein for a few more minutes, Harry managing a word in edgewise now and then.

"So..." Harry said, when Hermione had finally run out of things to say. "You talked to Dumbledore, then? About the Dursleys?"

She sobered instantly. "Yes, I did," she said quietly. "I'm sorry I got so upset yesterday, Harry, it's just - it just didn't seem _fair_."

"What d'you mean, it wasn't fair?" Harry asked.

"Well - " Hermione looked uncomfortable, but she plunged on. "You're so - _nice_. You're brave, and loyal, and honest, and - it just didn't seem fair that you have so little where there are absolutely awful people - like Malfoy - who have so much."

Harry felt embarrassed yet oddly pleased. "Well... maybe... but he has parents. I don't."

"I know," Hermione said fiercely. "And his parents - well, his father, anyway - are the ones that helped kill your parents, and you have to suffer for it. It's just not fair."

Harry shrugged. "Life isn't fair, I guess." If it was, he thought bitterly, I'd still have my parents, and Sirius. "But, in a way, I'm lucky I had to live with the Dursleys, you know."

Hermione looked shocked. "How can you say that?"

"Well," he said thoughtfully, "it's something that Dumbledore said at the end of last term, when I was in his office after the Department of Mysteries. He told me about the magic that kept me safe with them, and he said - " He had to think hard to remember exactly what Dumbledore had told him; the events of that night were still a bit hazy. " - he said that he knew I'd suffered, but when I arrived at Hogwarts I wasn't a pampered little prince, like I might have been if I'd grown up with a wizarding family." 

Hermione's hands fluttered nervously. "Oh, Harry, you wouldn't have - "

"Are you sure?" Harry said coolly. "For all we know, I could have turned out just like Draco Malfoy."

Hermione laughed at such a ridiculous notion. "That's rubbish, Harry, really, you're a much better person than he is, you would have never - "

"Maybe that's because I appreciate what I have, thanks to what I didn't have at the Dursleys'," Harry cut in. "If I'd grown up with a family like the Malfoys, if I'd grown up knowing I was famous, and knowing what I was famous for, maybe I'd be just as arrogant." 

"You're being pretty philosophical about this," Hermione observed, not looking convinced. 

Harry shrugged. "I've had a long time to come to terms with it. Besides, like I said - once I'm of age, I'm leaving. I have more than enough money to get my own place."

Hermione's eyes widened in fear. "But what about V-Voldemort? He'll come after you!"

Harry's eyes flashed defiantly. "I don't care. I'm not letting him stop me from having a normal life. And Dumbledore can't stop me, either," he added, anticipating Hermione's next objection. "He can put up wards or assign me a full-time guard, I don't care, but I am not staying with the Dursleys once I'm an adult." He cocked his head and considered a moment. "Okay, maybe I will for a few months, just so I can do some magic and scare the bloody hell out of them..."

"Harry!" Hermione scolded, sounding an awful lot like Mrs. Weasley, but she was laughing. "So," she said, still giggling, "you said you had a row with the Dursleys last night?"

"Yeah..." Harry said slowly, glancing at his watch. It was one-thirty. "Let's wait 'til Ron gets here - I don't want to have to tell this story twice."

"All right," Hermione agreed. "So, what did you think of Chapter 11 of the Auror training book - you know, the chapter about Useful Defensive Jinxes and Curses...?"

They chatted easily about the book for the next half hour, until the flames of Mrs. Figg's fireplace (magically enchanted not to burn hot, since it was a warm summer's day) turned emerald green. A moment later, Ron Weasley's lanky body appeared, spinning in the flames, and a moment later he tumbled out onto Mrs. Figg's ratty orange carpet. 

"All right, Harry?" Ron said cheerfully, brushing soot from his jeans.

"Hey, Ron." Harry grinned and extended a hand to help his friend up. 

"Hi, Hermione! I didn't think you'd be here already," Ron said to her, flopping onto the doily-covered couch.

"Oh, I decided to come a bit early," she said evasively. 

"Did you have fun at the party yesterday?" Harry asked, quickly changing the subject.

"Yeah, it was great!" Ron said enthusiastically. "I knew about the Birthday Blazers, Fred and George developed them especially for your birthday, Harry; I just stocked them in the store this morning..."

In one of his first letters of the summer, Ron had told Harry that he was working as a clerk at Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes for some extra pocket money. Harry envied Ron the summer job - not that he, Harry, needed the money, but he would have welcomed the extra interaction with the wizarding world.

"By the way, what's your mum think of your job?" Harry asked, remembering Mrs. Weasley's initial displeasure at Fred and George's joke shop. She'd seemed accepting of the joke shop yesterday, but somehow he didn't think Ron's mum would be too thrilled with Ron following in his brothers' footsteps.

"Oh, she's fine with it," Ron shrugged. "I told her it was just a summer job; I'm not going to make a _career_ out of it." He grinned. "You should hear Mum now, though. 'I always knew those two had talent; after all, O.W.L.s don't necessarily measure intelligence. They only got three apiece but they're doing just fine...'" he mimicked, adopting a high-pitched falsetto to imitate Mrs. Weasley.

Harry snickered and Hermione, apparently torn between the hilarity of Ron's comedic antics and her prefect-like respect for authority figures (excluding Dolores Umbridge, apparently), managed a tight smile.

"Being a prefect has its advantages, you know," Ron continued. "She's so happy about that, and my O.W.L. scores, that she lets me do pretty much anything." 

"Including using jigsaws and sanders," Hermione piped up, smiling at Ron.

Ron blushed. "Yeah."

Harry perked up at the mention of Ron's new hobby. "When did this start? Why didn't you tell me in your letters?" he demanded.

"There wasn't much to tell," Ron muttered, sending a bashful glance his way. "I just... was bored, and when I was helping Dad clean out his shed, we found his Muggle tools... and he taught me to use them... well, he tried, anyway..."

"...but I think we all know how Mr. Weasley is when it comes to most Muggle things," Hermione said, exchanging a knowing smile with Harry. "When Ron wrote to me, he told me about it and mentioned what tools he was using, so I sent him some books of my dad's." 

"Good books, too," Ron agreed, "but a bit boring to read, as they were all Muggle... no moving pictures, you know."

"They helped, didn't they?" Hermione said, a bit testily.

"They were great!" Ron said hastily. "Really great!"

"All right, then," she said, folding her arms across her chest and smirking at Ron.

"It's stupid, I know," Ron said, half-apologetically, to Harry, "but I didn't know when you were coming to stay, and I was getting really bored... Fred and George have a flat in London now, you know, so it's just me and Ginny at home..."

"I think it's _brilliant_, Ron," Harry assured his friend. "Just brilliant. Honest."

Ron's ears turned pink, much like they had the day before when he'd given the owl stand to Harry. "So, er... what were you two talking about before I came?" he asked, apparently searching for a change in subject.

"We were talking about the Auror Training book, but..." Hermione said, looking questioningly at Harry, "Harry was waiting until you got here so he could tell us about the row he had with the Dursleys last night."

"You had a row with the Dursleys?" Ron said worriedly. "You didn't get in trouble for having us over, did you?"

"Sort of..." Harry said, and proceeded to relate, nearly word-for-word, the argument he'd had with Vernon Dursley. As he told the story, Ron's eyes grew wider and wider while Hermione emitted soft "Oh!'s" at regular intervals.

"Whoa," Ron said, shaking his head, when Harry finished. 

"How awful," Hermione said softly. "No wonder they hate wizards."

"I know," Harry said. "It explains a lot."

"That's for sure," Ron agreed dryly.

Harry hesitated, wondering if he should tell them his conclusions about the prophecy and having to somehow defeat Voldemort with love. He decided against it; he wanted to think on it some more before sharing his thoughts. "We've reached a stalemate of sorts, though," he continued instead. "I leave them alone, and they leave me alone. As long as they ignore me the rest of the summer, I'll be fine."

Ron suddenly sat bolt upright. "By the way, Harry, what did Bill want to talk to you about yesterday?"

"Oh..." Harry said slowly, feeling his face and neck grow warm, "He just... uh... wanted to talk to me about... some things."

"What things? About the Order?" Ron pressed eagerly. 

"No... other things." Harry said uncomfortably. He glanced at Hermione and his cheeks grew pinker. "You know... _things_. And he, uh... he gave me a book."

"A book?" Ron asked, his forehead furrowing. Beside him, Hermione's eyes widened. 

"Let me guess," she murmured, flushing crimson. "_What Every Young Witch and Wizard Should Know_"?

"Yeah," Harry muttered as Ron let out a horrified yelp. 

"You mean - my _brother_ talked to you about _that_?" he exclaimed. He looked momentarily abashed, then abruptly brightened. "Well, at least it wasn't Dad. Or, for that matter, Mum." He shuddered.

Harry snorted. "That's for sure."

"My mum and dad got that book last summer," Hermione said, her face as crimson as Harry's Quidditch robes. "When they talked to me about it, I - I wanted to sink through the floor."

"I felt the same way when Dad talked to me," Ron said fervently. "That book was... interesting... though."

"Oh, yes," Hermione agreed, a bit too quickly. "Very interesting." Harry watched with amusement as the two of them looked briefly at each other and then swiftly looked away, each staring at opposite ends of the room.

"Well," Harry said a moment later, breaking the awkward silence, "Dumbledore gave me my Firebolt back yesterday."

"Excellent!" Ron exclaimed. "Is it okay?" he asked urgently, causing Hermione to roll her eyes. 

"It's fine," Harry said. He told them about the Hurling Hex Umbridge had placed on it and the need for Madam Hooch's tune-up.

"Why, that - that foul old cow - " Ron said angrily. "After all she did, I can't believe she wasn't sacked from the Ministry!"

"She's still there? She's still Senior Undersecretary?" Harry asked, dumbfounded.

"Yes; haven't you been reading the _Prophet_?" Hermione queried.

"No, not really," Harry said uncomfortably. He didn't bother to explain that, before his birthday party, he hadn't really done _anything_ that summer except brood about what had happened at the Department of Mysteries.

"Well, she was sacked from Hogwarts, obviously," Hermione informed him, "and all of those ridiculous Educational Degrees were repealed. But she's still working at the Ministry."

"And does she finally believe that Voldemort's back?" Harry asked angrily.

Unexpectedly, Hermione giggled. "She - she admits he's back," she said, "but you should hear what she's saying about _you_."

"What?" Harry asked suspiciously. 

"Oh, it's pretty rich, mate." Ron adopted another high-pitched, girlish tone that sounded remarkably like the former Headmistress. "'During my time as Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor at Hogwarts School,'" he drawled horribly, "'Harry Potter showed remarkable ability. I always thought that there was some truth to his story about You-Know-Who, as farfetched as it sounded...'"

"Does anyone actually believe her rubbish?" Harry asked, resisting the urge to laugh at Ron's mimicry. He rubbed his right hand absently; the faint white scars spelling "I will not tell lies," although faded, were still an ever-present reminder of Umbridge's tyranny.

Hermione bit her lip. "Well..." she said hesitantly. "The thing is... a lot of people are angry at Fudge for deceiving them about V-Voldemort's return. There's been talk about the Wizengamot holding a vote of no confidence."

"What's that mean?" Harry asked, looking from Ron to Hermione. Ron looked as clueless as Harry felt, and Hermione just looked worried.

"It means that if the vote is successful - and it sounds like it will be - there's going to be a new Minister of Magic," Hermione said in her exasperated "I-can't-believe-you-two-don't-know-this" tone (one that Harry and Ron had heard hundreds of times over the last few years). "For Merlin's sake, it's in - "

"_Hogwarts, A History_," Harry and Ron chorused together. "We _know_, Hermione," Ron added.

"Actually, no," Hermione said, looking offended. "I was going to say that it's in our History of Magic textbook."

The two of them simply stared at her. "I don't remember reading about it," Harry finally said, neglecting the mention that the only time he'd ever opened his History of Magic textbook was to find a name for Hedwig the summer he found out he was a wizard.

Hermione suddenly became inordinately interested in her shoelaces. "Well, it wasn't in the textbook, exactly... it was in a footnote," she said, not at all clearly. "But the point is, it's in there and you should know how the process works!" she rushed on.

"A _footnote_?" Ron said incredulously. "You don't just memorize the textbooks; you memorize the _footnotes_ too?" 

"I did some supplementary reading about the procedure because I was interested," Hermione said haughtily, glaring at Ron. 

Harry decided to change the subject to avoid yet another squabble between them. "So, er, how does it work, Hermione? How's a new Minister chosen?" he asked loudly.

"Well," Hermione said, still frowning at Ron, "it's a fascinating process, actually. The Wizengamot picks the new Minister, although if the Wizarding public is unhappy with the Wizengamot's choice, there is a recall system." 

Hermione cleared her throat and continued; Harry felt sure she was quoting directly from the aforementioned supplementary reading. "First there's a nomination process - each member of the Wizengamot submits a list of candidates that he or she thinks would be best suited for the job of Minister. If a name occurs on more than half of the lists, that person is automatically entered onto the short list of candidates. Usually, a list numbers anywhere from five to fifteen candidates. Once a list has been formed, the members keep casting ballots until the list has been shortened to three."

"What if there aren't any candidates in common?" Harry asked, intrigued in spite of himself. 

"If there are no candidates in common - which is very rare, it's only happened once or twice in the whole history of the Wizengamot - then the candidates are selected via a majority," Hermione explained. "For example - if there are fifty lists, and the most times a single name appeared was on twenty lists, that name would be selected to go on the short list, and so on. For centuries, only members of the Wizengamot have been elected Minister; however, any of-age witch or wizard is a potential candidate."

Harry noticed out of the corner of his eye that one of Mrs. Figg's cats had wandered into the living room and now seemed to be listening intently to Hermione. Hermione didn't seem to notice and continued her "lecture." 

"Wait a minute," Ron interrupted. "D'you mean to say that Fred or George could become Minister of Magic?" He and Harry shared a laugh at the thought of those two running the Ministry.

"In theory, yes," Hermione said dryly. "In practice, the last Minister of Magic elected who was not a member of the Wizengamot was Edouard Nigellus, a very wealthy and prominent businessman, in 1497. He was summarily deposed three months later when was discovered that he'd used blackmail and extortion to convince key members of the Wizengamot to support his election."

"Sounds like a relative of Lucius Malfoy," Harry said darkly.

"Actually, yes, he was," Hermione said calmly. "He was a relative of Sirius', too." She suddenly looked frightened and glanced at Harry, whose face was stony.

"Er... go on, Hermione, then what happens with the election?" Ron asked quickly.

"Well..." Hermione looked uncertainly at Harry, who was studying his fingernails, "The final candidates are asked if they accept the nomination. If a nomination is declined, the top name from the discarded short list is added to the new, final, nomination list and so on until three candidates have accepted the nomination. These three are sequestered in a different room, and the members of the Wizengamot proceed to discuss and debate the abilities and experience of each candidate," Hermione continued. "Once the debate portion is concluded, the actual voting begins. The members of the Wizengamot use a guarded annex of the Ministry of Magic for the election process. Each voting member swears an oath to protect the secrecy of the election. This oath is magical in nature and carries severe penalties if broken."

"Like what?" Ron sniggered. "Do they break out in big purple zits that spell the word 'sneak'?" 

To Harry and Ron's surprise, Hermione smiled smugly. "Yes. Well, not 'sneak' - I altered the spell for the D.A.'s purposes. I believe the word the Wizengamot uses is 'oath-breaker'. Also, the victim's mouth is magically sealed shut until the head of the Wizengamot performs the countercurse." 

Harry's mouth dropped open; he'd had no idea that Hermione's idea for the D.A.'s jinxed parchment had come from the Ministry of Magic election process - nor that Hermione had the ability to perform what must be very, very advanced magic. He knew she could do at least N.E.W.T. level, but beyond that -

"I did simplify the spell for our purposes, you know, so it wasn't as hard to cast as it normally would be," Hermione said, almost as though she knew what Harry was thinking. "Anyway - as I was saying - the deliberations last for three days, and then the votes are cast by secret magical ballots. Before the voting begins, the members of the Wizengamot are literally locked within the walls of the annex, which is screened for magical bugging devices."

"We should tell them to look for beetles, too," Ron muttered, earning a grin from Hermione. 

"Perhaps," she said sweetly. "The Wizengamot is sequestered from any contact with the outside world. Entrances are magically sealed via Imperturbable Charms and other methods. Once the Wizengamot is assured that the meeting area is secure, the voting begins. In the past, a Minister needed two thirds of the vote plus one to be elected, with no exceptions. In the 1896 election, however, the Wizengamot deliberated for three months and subsequently changed this rule so that if the votes continue to be unsuccessful for 12 or 13 days, the Wizengamot may agree by absolute majority, or half plus one, to elect."

Harry wished that Hogwarts students could select their professors the same way - if they could, he'd nominate Hermione for the new History of Magic professor. She was a know-it-all, but at least she made things sound interesting. And, he thought with amusement, Snape wouldn't be Potions master - he'd be relegated to a different job, perhaps assistant house-elf. With difficulty, he kept a straight face at the thought of Snape lighting the fires and making the beds in Gryffindor tower.

"Two ballots are taken each morning and two each afternoon until a successful vote is completed. After each voting session, the ballots are destroyed. If the vote is inconclusive, the Chief Witch or Warlock of the Wizengamot casts a special spell that causes silver sparks to appear in the fireplace of each Wizarding home. This indicates that a new Minister has not yet been elected." Here, Hermione paused to breathe before continuing. 

"When the Wizengamot reaches a final decision, the final ballots are counted and stored in the Ministry's Hall of Magical Archives. The Chief formally asks the chosen member if he or she accepts the post of Minister. Upon the member's acceptance, the Chief sends gold sparks to each Wizarding fireplace, signaling a successful election. The annex is unsealed and the new Minister is announced to the Wizarding public via a special Floo announcement."

"Well done, Miss Granger," a new voice said from a corner of the room. "I doubt that Professor Binns could have explained the Ministry election process as thoroughly."

The three teenagers jumped in unified surprise at the sound of their Transfiguration teacher. "P-Professor McGonagall!" Hermione squeaked in surprise, staring at the corner of the room where, just moments before, a gray-and-white tabby cat had been seated.

"Potter, Granger, Weasley," McGonagall said, nodding to each in turn. "I apologize for the interruption, but I have a message for the three of you."

"What is it, Professor?" Harry asked politely, feeling a bit unnerved at his professor's presence in Little Whinging.

"There is to be an Order of the Phoenix meeting tonight, and it is Professor Dumbledore's wish that you remain for it, as some of the news concerns you," McGonagall said. "Mr. Weasley, your parents will be in attendance. Miss Granger, I have already owled your parents and they will not expect you home until later this evening. Mr. Potter, will staying here for the next several hours present a problem for your guardians?"

"No, Professor," Harry said, grateful for the excuse to not go back to Privet Drive.

"I didn't think so," McGonagall said, distaste ripe on her lips. "Order members should begin arriving within the hour." She nodded at them and began to walk out the door.

"When will Professor Dumbledore get here?" Harry asked after her, eager to talk with the headmaster about the Dursleys' revelation. 

She turned, her emerald-green robes swirling around her, and raised in eyebrow. "He won't, Mr. Potter, as he has urgent business at the Ministry tonight. A vote of confidence in the Minister of Magic was held earlier this afternoon, and the vote failed." 

Hermione gasped. "You mean...?" she said excitedly. 

"Yes." McGonagall's lips creased in a grim smile. "Cornelius Fudge has been deposed as Minister of Magic."

~ end of Chapter 6 ~


	7. Chapter 7 The Order Meeting

**Chapter 7 – The Order Meeting**

Just as Professor McGonagall had said, members of the Order of the Phoenix began arriving within the hour. First the Weasleys – Mr. and Mrs. Weasley and Bill Weasley, who all greeted Harry cheerfully; Tonks; Kingsley Shacklebolt; stately Emmeline Vance; Dedalus Diggle (who didn't want to quit shaking Harry's hand in welcome until Emmeline Vance pulled him away); the elderly Elphias Doge; pink-cheeked Hestia Jones; a weak and pale-looking Sturgis Podmore; Mad-Eye Moody, who growled at them in welcome as he passed; Remus Lupin, who looked tired and weary but gave Harry a tight hug; a cloud of foul-smelling smoke that turned out to be Mundungus Fletcher, and, sweeping into the house at precisely one minute before four o'clock, Severus Snape.

The Potions master looked around the Muggle house and sniffed disdainfully.  "You live in this neighbourhood, do you, Potter?" he said to Harry, leering at the ratty furniture covered in tattered doilies.

"Yes," Harry muttered, clenching his fists at his side and bracing for the inevitable insult.  "What of it?"

"It may be the summer holiday – and lucky for you it is, otherwise you'd have points taken away – but I am still your professor, Potter," Snape said harshly.  "As such, you may address me as 'Professor' or 'sir.'"  With a last glare, he swept into the kitchen, effectively ignoring Ron and Hermione. 

"What's his problem?" Harry said disgustedly when he was sure Snape was out of earshot.  

"Still hasn't gotten that wand out, I reckon – you know, the one that's stuck up his arse?" Ron said quietly, and the two of them snickered as Hermione concealed a smile behind her hand. 

The front door opened again, and, to Harry's surprise, Fred and George walked in.

"Hey, little bro," Fred said cheerfully.

"Lovely day," George added, just as brightly.

"What're you two doing here?" Ron said suspiciously.

"McGonagall told us to come," George said, smoothing his lurid green dragon-skin jacket.  "I expect it's about our application to join the Order."

"_You're_ joining the Order?"  Hermione said, her eyes narrowing skeptically.

"We hope so," Fred said proudly.  "Why else would they ask us to come?"

"All right, you three," Professor McGonagall said, appearing at the living room door.  "You may come in."  She looked at the twins and her lips pursed. "It's about time you two arrived.  Come on."

Harry, Ron, and Hermione followed Fred and George into Mrs. Figg's small, and now rather crowded, kitchen.  

"Fred?  George?"  Molly Weasley said as they entered, half-rising from her chair.  "What are you two doing here?"

"They're here at Dumbledore's request, Molly," McGonagall said smoothly, waving her wand and conjuring some straight-backed wooden chairs for the five of them.  Harry rather thought that Mrs. Figg's house had some sort of charm on it to make it seem smaller than it really was; the kitchen at Privet Drive wouldn't have fit half this many wizards, yet they were all seated comfortably along a large, wooden table. He had a feeling that someone magical – perhaps her parents, or a sibling – had modified Mrs. Figg's house so she could have the comforts of a Wizarding home without it being too obvious to the other Muggles in Little Whinging.  

"Now, the first order of business," McGonagall said, consulting a long piece of parchment.  "New membership.  The following wizards have made known their request to join the Order of the Phoenix:  Frederick George Weasley and George Frederick Weasley."  She nodded at the twins.  

"What?!"  Molly Weasley again half-rose from her chair, her outraged shout echoing across the room.  "Membership in the Order?  Absolutely not!"

"Molly, your sons are of-age, out of school, and living on their own," McGonagall said severely but not unkindly, surveying Mrs. Weasley through her spectacles.  "It is no longer your decision."

"We want to join, Mum," Fred said firmly.

"We want to help in the fight against You-Know-Who in any way we can," George added.

"Professor Dumbledore," McGonagall said loudly, drowning out Mrs. Weasley's heated exclamations, "is of the opinion that the Messers. Weasley shall be allowed probationary membership in the Order for the period of six months.  If, after that time, they have proven themselves to be both responsible and useful, they will be granted full memberships."

Fred and George exchanged delighted glances, and Mrs. Weasley slumped back into her chair, her eyes brimming with angry tears.  Mr. Weasley patted her hand reassuringly while McGonagall frowned at the twins.  "I must impress upon the two of you the seriousness of membership in the Order," she said sternly.  "It may seem like it's merely a lark, but actively resisting You-Know-Who is a very dangerous undertaking.  If, at any time, you wish to rescind your membership, you must only speak to me or Professor Dumbledore.  Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, Professor," the two chorused, looking solemn for one of the few times in Harry's recollection.

McGonagall gave them each a crisp nod and consulted her parchment again.  "Next order of business: Defense Against the Dark Arts at Hogwarts School.  I am pleased to report that we have managed to secure a professor for the position.  Mr. Weasley?"  She looked over the parchment, not at Arthur Weasley, but at Bill, who was seated between his father and Hestia Jones.  

Bill smiled and said, "Dumbledore initially offered the job to me, but ultimately we decided it would be best if I stayed on at Gringotts and kept tabs on the goblin activities.  However, I sent out a few owls to some of my fellow curse-breakers to see if any would be interested in the position.  One of them was interested, and she has accepted the position."  He pulled a piece of parchment out of his pocket.  "Hallelujah Jones."

The reactions at the table were varied.  Hestia Jones beamed broadly, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley looked surprised, Lupin looked worried, and Tonks cheered.  Snape, however, wore an expression of the utmost loathing.  "_Her_?" he snarled.  "Surely Dumbledore could find _someone_ better suited to the position?"

Bill, nonplussed, stared Snape straight in the eye.  "I think she's very well suited to the position," the eldest Weasley brother said coolly.  "She was Head Girl at the same time I was Head Boy, so I know her abilities well.  She's one of the best curse-breakers Gringotts has, and what she doesn't know about countercurses and anti-jinxes isn't worth knowing."

"Indeed?"  Snape sneered.  "And what about her _unseemly_ prejudice against Slytherin house? Do you _really_ think she'll be able to teach without throwing every Slytherin into detention six times a day?"

"Dumbledore has already offered her the position, so obviously _he_ thinks she'll be able to act impartially, Severus," McGonagall said crisply.  

The black-haired witch, Hestia Jones, piped up angrily.  "Sounds like a case of the pot calling the cauldron black," she said, glaring at Snape.  "My cousin is as prejudiced against Slytherins as _you_ are against Gryffindors!" 

"I beg your pardon," Snape hissed, his pale face as still as a tombstone but his black eyes snapping.  

"That's enough," McGonagall snapped.  "If you have a problem with Ms. Jones, Severus, you can take it up with Dumbledore after the new minister is elected."  Snape settled back in his chair, still glaring daggers at Hestia; for her part, Hestia looked like she was itching for a good, old-fashioned wizard's duel.  Harry knew the feeling.

"Now, then," McGonagall continued, "in keeping with the subject of Defense Against the Dark Arts, our third order of business is Dumbledore's Army."

Harry sat up straight.  "What?" he exclaimed involuntarily.  

"Dumbledore's Army, Potter," Snape said, his lip curling.  "Surely you haven't forgotten the illegal association you organized right under Dolores Umbridge's rather unattractive nose?"

"Er…no…" he stammered, flushing as the other wizards and witches turned their gazes on him, "what about it, Professor McGonagall?"

"Professor Dumbledore would like the club to continue under your leadership, Potter," McGonagall said, "However, it will become a fully-sanctioned Hogwarts organization, with regular meeting times and so forth, under the sponsorship of Professor Jones.  He also requests that membership be open to all Houses, as well as all students third year and above."

"Wait a moment," Ron blurted.  "Slytherins too?"

Snape snorted in disgust.  "You see?" he said scathingly.  "It's not only D.A.D.A. professors, but their students as well."

"Yes, Weasley, Slytherins too," McGonagall said severely, ignoring Snape.  "I'm sure there are many students in Slytherin house who feel the need to hone their defense skills."  She nodded at Harry.  "Dumbledore will be in touch with you regarding more details; in the interim, he requests that you use your spare time in the remaining summer months to formulate lesson plans so that the association can commence as soon as possible once term starts."

Harry blanched at this, but Remus Lupin said quickly, "I can help you with them, Harry, don't worry."

"I can help too, Harry," Hermione said eagerly, her eyes shining.  "Oh, I have _so_ many ideas for new jinxes we can learn – "

"Thank you, Miss Granger," McGonagall cut in smoothly.  "I'm sure that both Mr. Lupin and Mr. Potter will be grateful for your assistance."  Her gaze traveled down her lengthy roll of parchment.  "Now, then… the next item of business – "

Before she could finish, there was a sudden burst of flame that appeared in midair above the center of the table.  A phoenix feather, accompanied by a scroll, appeared and dropped in front of McGonagall.

She picked up the scroll and glanced at it; her eyes widened in surprise and she held it out to Mr. Weasley.  "It's for you, Arthur."

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley exchanged puzzled glances before Mr. Weasley hesitantly accepted the scroll, broke the seal, and unfurled the parchment.  As he read it, his face grew pale and Mrs. Weasley, who was reading over his shoulder, gasped.

"Dad, what's wrong?" Bill Weasley said, half-rising from his chair.  Fred, George, and Ron all had their eyes fixed on their father's face, which was now the color of cottage cheese.

"I've been summoned to appear before the Wizengamot," Mr. Weasley said, his voice hollow.  

Ron made a strangled noise in his throat as Fred and George stared at their father in horror.  Bill, however, snatched the paper from his father's shaking fingers and began to read aloud.  "Arthur William Weasley:  You are hereby summoned and required to appear before the Wizengamot to address the subject of your nomination for the position of Minister of Magic…" his voice died as he stared, stunned, at the parchment in his hands.

"What?"  Ron whispered.

"Minister?"  Fred said stupidly.

"_Dad_?"  George said dumbly.

"I've been nominated," Mr. Weasley said in a hushed tone, gaping at the phoenix feather that had accompanied the letter.  "I've made the short list of nominations for Minister of Magic."

"Arthur…" Mrs. Weasley breathed, staring round at the other people at the table.  Most looked just as stunned as the Weasleys, with the exception of Snape, who looked surprised and vaguely disgusted.  "Minister!  Oh, Arthur… _Minister_!"

She threw her arms around her husband.  This familiar action seemed to jolt Mr. Weasley out of his state of shock, for he gently disengaged himself from her enthusiastic embrace and said, "Now, Molly, I'm not Minister… this is just the nomination process, you know, there's still the final vote yet to come…"

"But, oh, Arthur!" Mrs. Weasley cried.  "_Minister_!  Just to be nominated – and you're not even a _member_ of the Wizengamot, this must be the first time in _centuries_ that's happened – it's a great honor!"

"That it is," Remus Lupin said, being the first of the other Order members to recover from their own astonishment.  "Congratulations, Arthur."

"Congratulations, indeed," came a new voice from the kitchen doorway.  Harry twisted in his chair to see Albus Dumbledore framed in the doorway, dressed in ornate plum-colored robes.  Harry recognized those robes at once; he'd seen fifty-odd witches and wizards wearing them at his disciplinary hearing last year.  

"Albus!"  Professor McGonagall greeted.  "I didn't know you'd be able to join us tonight."

"I can't stay long, Minerva," Professor Dumbledore said, nodding to the others at the table.  "The Wizengamot has temporarily recessed to dine, and to await the arrival of Arthur Weasley."  

 "Oh yes… I'll have to issue a formal acceptance… and I suppose I'll be sequestered while the voting goes on, won't I?"  Mr. Weasley said, sounding dazed.  

"That's correct," Dumbledore said, his blue eyes twinkling and a very pleased expression on his face.  "Such debates we had this afternoon… I wish you could have heard them, Arthur; you have quite the number of supporters in the Wizengamot."

Mr. Weasley blushed as Mrs. Weasley, beaming proudly, hugged her husband's arm.  

"Professor Dumbledore," Hermione said urgently, leaning forward in her chair, "who are the other nominees?"

"Ah, yes," Dumbledore said, conjuring a comfortable chintz chair for himself and settling into it.  "Well, I was nominated, but I declined, of course."

"Why?"  Ron Weasley asked, amazed.

"I appreciate your confidence in me, Mr. Weasley," Dumbledore said calmly, "but I have a school to run.  Should I leave, Hogwarts could become susceptible to Voldemort, and I refuse to let that happen."

Harry reddened; Hogwarts wouldn't be at such risk if he didn't go there.  Ron was right, Dumbledore was the best choice for the job… but Dumbledore wanted to protect him, Harry, from Voldemort.  It was humiliating – but, in a way, a great relief.  Harry only felt safe at Hogwarts as long as Dumbledore was there. 

"The other nominee, besides your father, is Amelia Bones, the Head of the Magical Law Enforcement office," Dumbledore continued.  "Normally there are three nominees, but after I declined my nomination there was simply no one else the Wizengamot favored as a possible candidate.  Dolores Umbridge was quite disappointed; she had fully expected to be in the running." 

"_Her_?" Harry spat, resisting the urge to curse. "She'd be a _terrible_ Minister!"

"Oh, I quite agree," Dumbledore said, something closely resembling a smirk playing on the edge of his lips.  "However, it seems those on the Wizengamot that she considered her friends were absolutely appalled at the poor quality of her leadership of Hogwarts and chose not to nominate her."

Hermione sighed.  "Well, that's a relief."

"And how is the Minis – er, Cornelius Fudge handling his sudden demotion?"  McGonagall inquired archly.

"Not at all well, I'm afraid," Dumbledore said, not in the least perturbed.  "He seems to think that _I_ am to blame, despite the fact that the vote of no confidence was unanimous. Apparently," the headmaster's face hardened slightly, "Dolores Umbridge is not the only one who believed she had friends among the Wizengamot. I daresay Cornelius believes I have – what were his words? – oh, yes… 'hoodwinked and deceived the Wizengamot in order to assure his failure.'"

Dumbledore's words seemed to hang in the air.  Harry watched the faces around the table – the expressions ranged from mild exasperation (Lupin) to unrepressed anger (Mrs. Figg).  Snape, however, broke the silence.  "It does not cease to astonish me how that pathetic, insipid little man can suffer from such delusional paranoia," the Potions master said acidly.  

Harry was momentarily shocked – for once, he and Snape agreed on something.

"Be that as it may," Dumbledore said pleasantly, "Cornelius has made the decision, albeit reluctantly, to retire from the public eye, and as such we need a new Minister.  Arthur, if you'll accompany me…?"

"What?  Oh, oh, yes, of course!"  Arthur Weasley jumped up from the table, nearly knocking his chair over in the process.  

Mrs. Weasley stood up too, suddenly looking very distracted.  "I'll need to Apparate home and pack a bag for you… you'll need your dress robes, of course, and your nice shoes…"

With a sigh, Professor McGonagall rolled up her parchment.  "We might as well postpone the meeting since both of you are leaving."

"We'll have another Order meeting immediately after the election; I don't think there's anything on your list that can't wait until then," Dumbledore said.

Harry decided that if he was going to speak up, it might as well be now.  "So Voldemort hasn't been active?" he asked, loudly.

Everyone except Dumbledore flinched.  "No, Harry, he has not," Dumbledore said calmly.  "We believe that he is currently using this time to formulate more plans.  The Order is doing its best to be on the offensive at the moment, but we can only speculate as to his next course of action."  He gave Harry a significant glance over the top of his spectacles.  "After the election, I promise to give you more details regarding the Order's current information."

Harry stared at the headmaster for a long moment.  "Thank you, sir," he finally said.  It seemed Dumbledore wasn't going to keep him in the dark any longer, and Harry was grateful.  

"Well, we must be off," Dumbledore said cheerfully.  "Come, Arthur.  I'll be sure that your luggage gets to you as soon as Molly sends it over."

Mr. Weasley hugged his children – as well as Harry and Hermione – and set off with Dumbledore.  Mrs. Weasley followed, and soon the rest of the Order members followed in twos and threes, all talking quietly under their breaths about the topics that had been covered at the meeting.  Snape left alone, swooping out of the house like a giant bat and not sparing a backward glance at Harry.  

"Bill!"  Ron said, flagging down his older brother as he was about to leave the room.  Bill paused at the door and waited for the trio to catch up with him.

"You know the new DADA teacher?"  Ron said eagerly.  "What's she like?"

Bill grinned.  "Curious, are you?" He checked his watch.  "I suppose I can spare a few minutes before I go back to the bank."  He leaned against the doorjamb.  "Now, Hallelujah Jones.  She was in my year at Hogwarts, but in Ravenclaw.  Definitely the smartest witch in our year, and one of the most talented witches I know."  Privately, Harry thought the new DADA teacher sounded remarkably like Hermione.

"She was Head Girl when I was Head Boy," Bill continued, "and after graduation we both applied to Gringotts.  I was assigned to Egypt and she to Zimbabwe."

"Zimbabwe?"  Ron's eyes were wide with interest.  "Cool!"

Bill nodded.  "She was quite happy to be assigned there.  You see, her father, Max, was also a curse breaker for Gringotts.  You remember Hestia Jones, one of the Order members?"  The trio nodded.  "She's Hallelujah's cousin – her father is Hallelujah's uncle. Anyway, as I said, Hallelujah's father was also a curse-breaker.  When _he_ was working in Zimbabwe, he met Hallelujah's mother, a native working for the local MLE – Magical Law Enforcement," he added for Harry and Hermione's benefit. "They married and lived in Zimbabwe for several years.  When Hallelujah was six, her family moved back to England.  She still has a lot of family in Zimbabwe and was happy to move back."

"Why is she leaving Zimbabwe to teach at Hogwarts?" Hermione wondered.

Bill shrugged. "Now that You-Know-Who is back, Dumbledore wants to make sure that there's a good teacher in the DADA position.  It's important that you all learn to defend yourselves – you did a great job with Dumbledore's Army, Harry, but you're still a student; you can't do it full-time.  I think Hallelujah realizes the necessity of a good DADA teacher, and that's why she accepted the job."

"Bill, what was Snape talking about?"  Harry asked quietly. "He said she was… prejudiced against Slytherin house?"

"Oh… that."  Bill shifted uncomfortably.  "You see… when we were in school, Hallelujah was dating Cadby McKinnon, a Hufflepuff.  He and his entire family were suddenly and tragically killed by Death Eaters when he was home on Christmas break."

"Oh, no," Hermione whispered, her eyes tearing.  "How awful."

Bill nodded grimly.  "The worst part is that some of the kids in Slytherin were – well, I guess you'd call them junior Death Eaters.  Their parents were all Death Eaters and You-Know-Who supporters.  In the days and weeks after Cadby's death, they teased her about it – mercilessly.  Hallelujah was too proud to go to any of the teachers, and Professor Snape – well, he couldn't risk reprimanding them for fear he'd jeopardize his position in You-Know-Who's ranks.  Of course, no one knew he was a spy then – except Dumbledore – so we all assumed he was a Death Eater too."  Bill sighed.  "Anyway, Hallelujah kind of… declared war on the Slytherins. _All _the Slytherins, even the ones who left her alone."

"What'd she do?" Ron asked, fascinated.

"She jinxed them in the corridors, took points away for stupid things like having a shoelace untied, and so on."  Bill looked unhappy.  "She was completely abusing her authority, first as a prefect and then as Head Girl.  I know that Dumbledore finally had to talk to her about it.  After that, she toned it down a bit, but…"  He shook his head.  "As far as anyone knows, she still carries a grudge to this day." 

"Well, so what?"  Ron demanded.  "Everyone knows that Snape favors the Slytherins.  What's wrong with them getting a bit of what Snape dishes out to us?"

"It's wrong because we're _supposed_ to be _promoting_ house unity, Ron!"  Hermione jumped in before Bill could answer.  "Don't you remember what the Sorting Hat said last year?  '_We must unite inside her or we'll crumble from within._'"

"She's right, Ron," Bill said seriously.  "That's why Dumbledore wants your Defense group open to _all_ houses, especially Slytherin. We need to give every Slytherin the chance to turn against You-Know-Who and the means to defend themselves if they do."

"Sirius once said that the world wasn't divided into good people and Death Eaters," Harry blurted, thinking of that long-ago day outside of Hogsmeade.

"He was right," Bill said.  "Now, Ron, don't think I'm condoning Snape's partiality, because I'm not.  He has his own discrimination issues to work out.  I'm just saying that favoritism is never a good idea, no matter who does the favoring."

Bill glanced at his watch and straightened.  "I need to get going.  I'll see you all later – think about what I said, all right?"  He cuffed Ron on the shoulder affectionately, nodded at Harry and Hermione, and strode out the door.

~ end of Chapter 7 ~


	8. Chapter 8 Prodigal Son

**Chapter 8 – Prodigal Son**

Harry spent the majority of the next two days at Mrs. Figg's, only returning to the Dursleys' to sleep, shower, and change.  He and Mrs. Figg spent the days puttering around her house, anxiously watching the fire for news of the elections.  Occasionally Ron or Hermione came to visit, but they spent the day watching the fire and waiting for news.

Eight times already, silver sparks had erupted in the fireplace, indicating that the voting was inconclusive.  Harry didn't know how much longer he could stand the suspense – what if the voting went on for weeks?  

On midmorning of the third day, the fireplace flames turned emerald green and began emitting _gold_ sparks instead of silver. "Mrs. Figg!"  Harry yelled, and she rushed into the living room with the lunch tray in her hands.  

"Just you watch," she said breathlessly, plopping down to kneel before the fireplace beside Harry.  "In a few minutes there'll be a special Floo announcement."

Harry waited eagerly.  After what seemed like hours, the flames of the fire turned emerald green once again, and the spinning head of Professor Dumbledore appeared amid the blaze.

"Citizens of the British Wizarding World," he said in a curiously echoing voice, as though he'd cast a Sonorous Charm on himself, "a new minister has been elected.  May I announce your new Minister of Magic – Amelia Susan Bones!"  

Harry felt as though he'd been punched in the gut.  Madam Bones?! But... but... 

"Well," Mrs. Figg said nervously. "Madam Bones.  My, my."

Numbly, Harry rose from the lounge floor and plopped down on the couch, shaking his head in disbelief.  It wasn't fair – Mr. Weasley deserved the job.  He worked so hard for so little; he should have finally gotten the recognition he was due!  _Madam Bones is more qualified, though_, a tiny voice inside his head murmured.  _She's a prominent member of the Wizengamot and the Head of the Magical Law Enforcement Office... Mr. Weasley's only been the Head of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts office; how is he qualified for the job?_

_Shut up_, Harry told the little voice fiercely, trying not to think of how Ron would react.  He'd been so excited that his dad might be Minister... 

Harry didn't have to wait long to find out Ron's reaction.  He and his whole family had spent the last few days at the Ministry, waiting to hear the minute the election results came through.  A short time after the Floo announcement, the Weasleys arrived at Mrs. Figg's en masse.

"Hello, Harry, Arabella," Mrs. Weasley said, sounding weary.  "I suppose you've heard?"

"Er, yes..." Harry said, unsure of what to say.  Ron, his face gloomy, slumped onto the couch beside him. 

"Well, it's all for the best," Mrs. Weasley said, the brightness in her voice high and false.  "It was an honor for Arthur just to be nominated... a tremendous honor... his name will be in the history books now; the first candidate for Minister in centuries who wasn't on the Wizengamot!  Even Amelia Bones can't say that..."  She abruptly stopped talking and tried to smile at her children.

"Well, Dad should be along shortly," she said.  "I told him to meet us here once he'd finished his business with the Wizengamot..."

True to her word, Arthur Weasley arrived about a half an hour later.  "Hello, all!" he said, the cheerfulness in his tone sincere.  "My, it's good to be away from the Ministry! I – "  He stopped and looked round at their disappointed expressions.  "Why all the glum faces?" he asked.

Fred and George exchanged puzzled glances.  "Dad... you didn't win..." George said slowly.

"And thank Merlin for that!"  Mr. Weasley said emphatically.  "I'd be a terrible Minister, absolutely hopeless; working in the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts office doesn't exactly prepare one for the Ministership, you know."

"You're _glad_ you weren't elected?"  Fred said disbelievingly.

"Utterly thankful," Mr. Weasley said, leaning down to kiss his wife's cheek.  "It's a very difficult job, Minister; lots of stress, lots of time in the public eye.  I'll be much happier with my new position, I can tell you that..."

Mrs. Weasley's head snapped up.  "New position?" she said sharply.  "What new position?"

Mr. Weasley looked surprised.  "Why, didn't you hear?" he asked. "I've been promoted to the Head of Magical Law Enforcement – Amelia's old job."

Mrs. Weasley shrieked and threw herself on her husband, kissing his cheeks in the most public display of affection Harry had ever seen from her.  Pandemonium reigned as every Weasley – and Harry – clamoured to congratulate the new Head of MLE.  

"This calls for a celebration!"  Mrs. Figg beamed.  "Harry, call Hermione on the Floo – we're having a party for the Weasleys tonight to celebrate Arthur's promotion!"

* * *

The mood was no less jovial that night as the Weasleys, Harry, and Hermione gathered at Mrs. Figg's.  A summer thunderstorm had come up suddenly that evening, but while heavy rain poured outside, merriment reigned inside the house on Wisteria Walk.  

They ate their way through a sumptuous dinner (Mrs. Figg and Mrs. Weasley had been cooking all afternoon), all the while chattering about the election, the Wizengamot (of which Arthur Weasley was now a member), and Mr. Weasley's new job.

They were just starting on Mrs. Weasley's homemade strawberry shortcake when the doorbell rang. Mrs. Figg started to rise, but Harry, who was seated closest to the hallway, jumped up.  "I'll get it, Mrs. Figg," he offered.  

As he walked to the front door, he could hear Mrs. Figg saying, "He's such a nice boy! I don't know how he ever learned manners from those boorish Muggles he grew up with."

Harry grinned; it was quite simple, really.  He'd decided very early on in his childhood to act the opposite of the Dursleys in every way, and he'd learned manners from his teachers and classmates – the ones with non-Dursley-like parents – in primary school.

He pulled open the heavy front door.  A man was standing in the pouring rain, head bowed, without even an umbrella or an overcoat to shield him from the inclement weather.  The man raised his head, and Harry stared into a pair of misery-filled brown eyes.

"Percy!"  Harry said, speaking louder than he'd intended in his surprise.

"_Percy_?!" Mrs. Weasley cried from the other room. Harry heard chairs being knocked over and gasps of surprise from the dining room.

"Hello, Harry," Percy Weasley said, his voice barely audible above the pouring rain.

Harry scarcely recognized him.  The proud, pompous young wizard he'd known at Hogwarts and seen at the Ministry was a far cry from the sad, bedraggled figure that stood on Mrs. Figg's front steps.

"Percy!" Mrs. Weasley flung herself into the doorway, nearly knocking Harry over.  "_Percy_!  You – you're – "

"Hello, Mum," Percy said, trying to smile but failing.  "Can I come in?"

"Of _course_!"  Mrs. Weasley lunged forward, grabbed her third eldest son's hand, and pulled him inside.  "Percy, you're absolutely _soaked_!  Why, you're not even wearing a cloak!  Didn't you Apparate?  Why are you so wet?"

"I did Apparate," Percy said, his voice weary.  "I'm wet because I – I was standing outside the door for a while."  

"But why – " While Mrs. Weasley was prattling on, Harry reached out and closed the front door, shutting out the noise of the storm outside.

When he turned, he saw that the rest of the Weasley family (with Mrs. Figg lurking in the background) had gathered in the front hall and were now staring at Percy.  Mr. Weasley and Bill wore identical expressions of shock; Fred and George wore scowls of anger; Ron's face was twisted with suspicion; and Ginny, a mixture of defiance and apprehension.

"What are _you_ doing here?" Fred asked bluntly, the hostility in his voice unchecked.

"You're not welcome," George added angrily.

"Fred!" Mrs. Weasley scolded.  "George!  He most certainly is – "

Percy held up his hand to stop Mrs. Weasley's angry torrent.  "Mum, please," he said hoarsely, water dripping off his horn-rimmed spectacles onto his muddy robes.  "I – I know you don't want me here," he said, addressing Fred and George. "But I have something to say.  Just hear me out and I'll leave, I promise."

Fred and George eyed Percy malevolently, and then exchanged glances between themselves.  "All right," George finally said, crossing his arms across his chest.  "We're listening."

Percy's shoulders sagged in what looked like relief.  "Thank you."

"How did you know we were here?"  Ron asked suspiciously.

"Professor Dumbledore," Percy said.  "I went to the Burrow first, and he was there... he told me where you all were."

"Why is Dumbledore at the Burrow?"  Ginny asked her father, wide-eyed.

"Oh..." Mr. Weasley looked uncomfortable.  "I'm in a more prominent position now, being head of MLE, and Dumbledore thought it wise to put some extra wards around the house... just as a precaution, you know... it's standard for most high-ranking Ministry officials."

"Why don't you all sit down in the lounge?" Mrs. Figg broke in suddenly.  "I'll make some hot tea."

The Weasleys silently filed into the living room while Mrs. Figg bustled into the kitchen.  Fred and George went in first, followed by Ron, Ginny, and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley.  Percy followed his mother.  When he passed by Bill, who was standing in the living room doorway, the elder brother quietly raised his wand and whispered an incantation.  A jet of warm air issued from his wand, drying the water from Percy's clothes and hair.  Percy looked startled but gave Bill a grateful, if half-hearted, smile.  Bill smiled back and followed him into the living room.  

In the lounge, Percy slumped into an ancient wingback chair.  Harry, Ron, and Hermione sat on the couch with Ginny curled up on the floor at their feet and the twins perched on each end.  Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were seated on the other sofa, with Mrs. Weasley holding tightly to her husband's hand.  Bill remained standing.  He lingered in the doorway and, minutes later, helped Mrs. Figg serve the tea.

Percy accepted a steaming cup but didn't drink.  He stared into its depths for a long time.  Finally, he raised his head and began to speak.  "I'm not here to apologize," he said, clutching his teacup so tightly it looked like it might shatter, "because it's too late for that.  I've acted abominably, and there's no excuse for my behavior.  None.  So I'm not going to try to give excuses but I – I just want to explain."

He took a deep breath that ended in a long, shuddering sigh.  "I suppose it begins on the day after my promotion.  I told Minis – that is, Cornelius Fudge – about the argument I'd had with my family.  I expected him to be proud, to congratulate me – but he seemed disappointed.  He suggested that I wait a few days, calm down, and try to patch things up.  I thought it was a test of my loyalty to the Ministry, but you were right, Father."  He turned his anguished eyes to Mr. Weasley.  "You were right.  He wanted me as a spy for the family and Dumbledore – and Harry.  This entire year he's repeatedly urged me to reconcile.  I thought he was merely trying to be nice, but – " Percy's face hardened.  "The day that You-Know-Who broke into the Ministry, I accidentally overheard a conversation between Fudge and Lucius Malfoy."

Mr. Weasley sucked in his breath and leaned forward.  "What did you hear, son?" he asked gently, encouragingly.

"Malfoy asked Fudge if he'd had any further luck 'getting any useful information out of the Weasley boy,'" Percy said bitterly, setting his teacup down on a nearby end table with a loud *clank.*  "And Fudge said, 'No, that doltish boy is still as stubborn as a goblin.  If he doesn't back down soon, I may have to demote him.'"  Percy's fist crashed down on the arm of the chair.  "I worked my _arse_ off for him!  I came in early, I stayed late, I did ten times the amount of work required for someone in my position, and I did it damn well.  And then I found that he was just using me, after all."

"Oh, Percy..." Mrs. Weasley said, her eyes filled with tears.

"And that's not all," Percy continued savagely.  "When I graduated, Penelope and I had a talk.  With me starting a job at the Ministry and her N.E.W.T.s coming up, we agreed that a long-distance relationship might be too cumbersome at that time in our lives.  So we decided to remain friends.  Well, last summer, we started corresponding again.  She moved to London in August and began an apprenticeship at St. Mungo's, and we started dating again.  It was – " Here, Percy's eyes glazed over slightly, " – it was wonderful.  I'd been lonely, and it was so nice to have someone to be with, someone who appreciated me for _me_, someone who admired my abilities and my work.  And then," Percy swallowed, and the hard look returned to his eyes, "Fudge found out.  He called me into his office and invited me to tea, and he talked to me like – like I was his son."  

Mr. Weasley's hand jerked slightly, and Percy avoided his father's eyes. "He told me that young love was a wonderful thing and all, but it wouldn't be wise to tie myself down just yet because it was important to focus on my career.  Oh, he said many flattering things, implied that I was the Ministry's rising star, and so on.  After that conversation, I owled Penny and told her I didn't think we should see each other anymore."

Ginny emitted a soft "Oh!" of sympathy, no doubt empathizing with Penelope – she'd received a similar letter from Dean Thomas earlier in the summer.  Percy glanced at her and continued.  "She sent me a few owls after that, but I ignored them.  I thought I was doing what was best for my career – until I heard that damned conversation between Fudge and Malfoy."  

Percy swiped irritably at his eyes, which were bright with angry tears.  "After Fudge talked about his 'doltish' personal assistant, he said, 'At least I was able to talk him out of his relationship with that Clearwater girl – the idiot boy was falling in love with a Mudblood.  Thank Merlin I nipped that in the bud.  I'm going to introduce him to my niece at the next Ministry function.  She's a nice pureblood girl.'"  Percy's laugh had a slightly hysterical tinge to it.  "I've met his niece – she may be a nice pureblood girl, but she has the brains of a flobberworm and the looks of a garden gnome!"

Ron made a queer sound, and Harry realized that he was choking back laughter.  Hermione gave him a severe look and returned her full attention to Percy, to whom she was listening sympathetically.

"I couldn't believe it," Percy continued brokenly.  "I'd given up my family _and_ my girlfriend for him, and the whole time he was just trying to use me.  The last straw came the next morning, when I found out about You-Know-Who's return.  Dumbledore and Harry had been right all along – it flew in the face of everything I'd been told, over and over, during the past months.  I saw that Fudge had lied to me yet again."

"That's all well and good, Percy," Fred interrupted, glaring at his brother, "but how do we know that you're not just here for your own gain?  Dad's head of MLE now; I bet you're just scared of losing your job, and now you're sucking up to him so you can keep your precious Junior Assistantship!"

"_Frederick_ _Weasley_!"  Mrs. Weasley cried, outraged. 

Percy's eyes fixed on his brother's face.  "No, Mum, he has a point."  He took a cream-colored envelope out of the pocket of his robes and threw it at Fred's feet.  It landed on the orange carpet with a soft *thwap.*  "There," Percy said, his tone calm and detached.  "That's my resignation.  I'm sending it with Hermes tomorrow."

Fred was still locked in a staring match with Percy, so George reached down and took the letter.  He removed the parchment from its envelope and scanned the contents.  Fred broke eye contact with Percy long enough to examine the letter for himself.

"Percy..." Mrs. Weasley said helplessly.  Harry realized that she was seeing her dream of having the majority of her children employed at the Ministry dissolve before her eyes (which, Harry thought, seemed rather unfair to Ron and Ginny, seeing they had yet to choose careers).  

"Three days ago," Percy said in quiet, measured tones, " after the vote of no confidence, Fudge came to me.   He wanted me to stay on at the Ministry and keep him informed as to what was happening in the Minister's office, so if things went wrong he could step back in.  He wanted me to spy for him – again.  I told him I wouldn't do it – that I was loyal to the Ministry and England, not him.  He said – " Percy swallowed. "He said that the Ministry was going to crumble now that You-Know-Who was back, and I'd best get on the winning side.  He threatened me – said that if I didn't stay on, I'd regret it, that I'd be one of the first You-Know-Who went for..."  

It was too much for Percy.  He broke down into racking, shuddering sobs.  "I trusted him!"  he wailed.  "He was my superior, my mentor, just like Mr. Crouch... I trusted him... I trusted _both _of them... and I was betrayed..."

The Weasleys sat as if turned to stone, watching the broken young man before them in mute pity.  Suddenly, Ginny rose gracefully from her cross-legged position on the floor and went across the room to her brother.  "It's all right, Percy," she said softly, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.  "Older and wiser wizards than you have been hoodwinked by Lord Voldemort."

Harry couldn't believe it – he'd never heard any of the Weasleys call Voldemort by name before.  Yet here was Ginny saying it without a stutter or a cringe.  What had happened to her to bring about this change?  He resolved to talk to her about it later. 

Percy looked up at his little sister, amazed, yet there was something in his eyes that had been absent just seconds before – hope.  Brother and sister studied each other, and then they embraced.

Mrs. Weasley burst into tears.

"Wait," Fred said loudly.  He seemed unable to let go of his anger.  "You didn't even visit Dad in the hospital!  He nearly _died_, he was in St. Mungo's for _weeks_, but you didn't visit him once!"

Percy shook his head.  "I did," he said quietly.  "I visited him at night." 

The angry look faded from Fred's face and was replaced with an expression of surprise.  "What?"

"I went at night," Percy repeated.  His gaze flickered to his father, who looked dumbstruck.  "I didn't think he – or any of you – would _want_ to see me, so I went at night when he – when everyone – was asleep."

Bill spoke up.  "I _thought_ I saw you a few times in the morning... I assumed it was my imagination."

"But..." Now George jumped in.  "You sent back your Christmas jumper.  Without a note."  

Percy looked puzzled.  "No, I didn't."

"Yes, you did!"  George insisted.  "You made Mum cry – on _Christmas_ – because you sent it back unopened – "

"I never got it," Percy said.

This stopped George short. "Huh?" 

"I never got a Christmas jumper," Percy said again, hurt appearing in his eyes.  "I assumed that Mum hadn't sent one to me because of how I acted when she came up to London to see me."

"But I sent it!"  Mrs. Weasley cried.  "I sent it Christmas Eve, with Errol... and a Ministry owl came back with it on Christmas Day.  There was no note... no message... just the package."

'I never got it, Mum," Percy insisted. "I waited _all day_, and when it didn't come, I thought it meant that..." his voice dwindled to nearly nothing, "I wasn't a member of the family any more."

"Oh, Percy, no!"  Mrs. Weasley wept.  "You will _always_ be a member of our family, _nothing_ change that... _nothing_...

"Your mother's right," Mr. Weasley said firmly.  "Though I do wonder why anyone would want to steal your Christmas presents."

"I..." Percy's eyes widened.  "Could Fudge have... but why, if he _wanted_ me to reconcile...?"

A suspicion took root in Harry's head.  He'd also had mail intercepted within the last year.  "Umbridge," he said aloud.  Percy and the others looked at him.  Harry spoke directly to Percy.  "She intercepted my mail last year.  Could she have taken yours?"

"I don't know..." Percy said slowly.  "I suppose it's possible... but why...?"

"Maybe she had an ulterior motive," Hermione said darkly.  "Maybe she didn't want Dumbledore or Harry to have any more friends at the Ministry – she probably thought she was doing Fudge a favor."

Percy shook his head miserably.  "I had thought she was a _friend_... I had thought she truly _cared_ about the students..."  His head snapped up suddenly and he stared directly at his youngest brother.  "Ron, you never had detention with her, did you?" he asked sharply, sounding almost panicked.

"No," Ron said, "but Harry did."

Percy looked at Harry, who held up his right hand with his knuckles facing out.  The thin, white scars spelling "I will not tell lies" shone dimly in the light of the fire.   Percy's face crumpled.  "I'm sorry, Harry," he said.  "I only just heard about that quill of hers a few weeks ago... I was appalled... I'm sorry."

Harry lowered his hand.  He realized that Percy was apologizing for more than the quill – he was apologizing for his lack of trust towards Harry. "It's okay, Percy," he said, his voice low. As Ginny had said, Percy had been duped by Lord Voldemort, just like countless others – including Fudge, though Harry didn't think he'd be forgiving the former Minister anytime soon.  Fudge, after all, had yet to show any genuine remorse or regret for his actions.  At least Percy was man enough to admit when he was wrong and beg his family's pardon.

Percy looked around the room and heaved a large sight.  "That's all," he said.  "That's what I came here to say.  I – I'll go now."

Before he could move, Ron quickly stood up.  "Percy," he said gruffly, "you've been a huge git."  He quickly added before his parents could protest, "But I've been a git to Harry and Hermione, and they've always forgiven me."  He flashed a grin at his friends, who grinned in return. "I guess – I mean, I suppose – well, if they can forgive their friend, I can forgive my brother."  And he held out his hand.

Percy stood up, slowly, as if moving too quickly would cause Ron to retract his hand and sit back down.  He faced Ron – who, due to growth spurts during the past year, was now at eye-level with Percy – and extended his own hand to clasp Ron's.  Unexpectedly, Ron pulled his brother into a hug.

This seemed to be a silent signal to the rest of the Weasleys, who all stood and rushed to join in the hug, even Fred and George.  Harry and Hermione hung back, sensing this to be a private moment for the Weasley family, but the two exchanged happy smiles.  

Mrs. Weasley said through joyful tears, "Oh, come on – you're members of this family too!" and pulled them into the circle.  

The clank and rattle of plates was heard among the exultant din, and Harry watched Mrs. Figg wheel a cart into the room that held plates of Mrs. Weasley's forgotten shortcake.  "Why don't we continue the party, now that we have something else to celebrate?"  Mrs. Figg said happily.  "Let's finish this delicious dessert, shall we?"

"_Shortcake_," Percy breathed, making a beeline for the cart.  "Oh, Mum, I've missed your cooking!"

They all laughed and crowded around the cart for their own plates.  Ginny sat near Percy's seat and talked to him quietly as they ate.  "Percy, it might not be too late to patch things up with Penelope," she said softly.

Percy shook his head glumly.  "I treated her terribly, Ginny.  The most I can hope for at this point is that she'll accept my apology... I sent a letter to her with Hermes earlier today.  I haven't yet received a reply."  He checked his watch.  "Once Hermes is back, I'm sending him to the Ministry with my resignation."

"Speaking of your resignation, Percy, where did it go?" Mr. Weasley asked suddenly.

"Oh... I have it, Dad," George said, taking the crumpled parchment from his pocket.  

Mr. Weasley reached for it and, before Percy or anyone else could react, tossed it into the fire.

"Dad!"  Percy said, shocked.  "Wha... why...?"

Mr. Weasley looked squarely at his son.  "We need good people at the Ministry, Percy," he said simply.  "Amelia's going to need a lot of help now that You-Know-Who is back.  Despite Fudge's motives for hiring you, you did an excellent job for him."

"But Dad..." Percy said helplessly, "I don't even know if I still have a job... perhaps Minister Bones has already sacked me, seeing as how close I was to Fudge..."

"I know for a fact that Amelia intends to keep you on in your current position," Mr. Weasley stated calmly.  "She talked to me about it earlier today; she wanted to know if it would cause problems.  I told her it was fine with me."

Percy's face lit up like a Christmas tree, and Mrs. Weasley clapped her hands in joy.  "How wonderful!  Percy, I'm so _proud – _"  She was interrupted by the insistent ringing of the doorbell.

"Who on Earth..." Mrs. Figg wondered as she bustled to the door.  Harry heard the sound of the door opening and Mrs. Figg's, "Hello, dear, can I help you...?"

"Is Percy Weasley here?" an unfamiliar woman's voice asked.

All color drained from Percy's face.  His empty cake plate and fork slid from his lap and clattered to the floor as his hands went limp.  "Penny..." he whispered, looking absolutely terrified.  He stood abruptly as Mrs. Figg led a young woman in the lime-green Healer's robes of St. Mungo's into the room.

Harry vaguely recognized the older and rather pretty girl from her years at Hogwarts; she had the same dark eyes and black, curly hair, which was now pinned into a mussed chignon.  Her robes and hair were dry, but her face was streaked with raindrops – or were they tears?

"Hello, Percy," Penelope said quietly.  "I got your owl – it was at my flat when I got home after my shift at St. Mungo's.  I went to the Burrow and Professor Dumbledore said you were here."

"Penny..." Percy gulped, taking a step toward her, his eyes wide and beseeching.  "I – I'm so sorry.  For everything.  For the way I acted, for what I did. I was a total git... I don't expect forgiveness, but I do hope you can find it in your heart to – "

"Percy, shut up," Penelope said.  

Percy obediently shut his mouth, looking more terrified than ever.  

Harry was feeling very uncomfortable.  He knew that everyone else had ceased to exist for Percy and Penelope, but he still felt like he was eavesdropping on a very private conversation.  He discreetly looked around the room and saw that everyone else seemed frozen in place as they watched the pair.

"You hurt me," she said, crossing her arms in front of her chest.  

"I know," Percy whispered, anguished. "I'm sorry."

"You really, _really_ hurt me," Penny said, her lower lip beginning to tremble.

"I know," Percy said again.  "I'm _so_ sorry, Penny."

"I was _over_ you, Percy Weasley," she said forcefully. "It took me months, but I _finally_ got over you.  I was doing just fine without you.  I had a good job, good friends, and a good life – all without _you_."

Percy's already pale face turned stark white, and he looked stricken.  "Penny..." he mumbled desolately.

"And then," she continued, her voice shaking and her body quivering, "today, when I arrived home, I got your letter – that absolutely _beautiful_ letter – and suddenly my life felt empty again."

"I... you..." Percy stammered, hope beginning to dawn on his face.

"I was completely over you, and just like _that_ – " Penelope snapped her fingers," – you made me realize how much I still miss you – how much I still care for you."

Percy inhaled sharply, some color returning to his pale cheeks.  "Do you... you mean... you forgive me?" he rasped hopefully.  

"Forgive you?  _Forgive_ you?"  Penny sniffled, losing the battle with her tears.  They streamed down her face in torrents as she cried, "Of _course_ I forgive you – I love you, you daft man!"

Percy gave her one incredulous look and sprang at her, catching her up in his arms.  

Harry stared in amazement at the sight of Percy – _Percy Weasley _– on the giving end of one of the most passionate kisses he'd ever seen.  Not that he'd seen many, but still – who would have thought that stodgy, stuffy, uptight Percy could kiss like that?  

Judging from Fred, George, Ron, and Bill's current expressions of shock, they felt the same astonishment as Harry. Ginny, however, was smiling (since she'd previously witnessed Percy and Penelope's snogs, it didn't appear to bother her), and Hermione looked close to tears herself – though they seemed to be tears of happiness, since she was also smiling.  Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were staring at the two with mouths agape.

Abruptly, Percy and Penny broke apart.  Percy was flushed and Penelope was blushing, but they both looked supremely happy.  Percy's eyes were bright and intense, and as he looked the woman in his arms, he seemed to be making a decision.

"Penelope Ann Clearwater," Percy said, his voice sure and strong and ringing through the room, "I love you – will you marry me?"

Mrs. Weasley gasped while Penelope's dark brown eyes widened in shock.  She gazed at Percy, searching his face for signs of uncertainty or doubt, but there were none.  "Yes!" she cried, laughing through her tears.  Percy picked her up and swung her around, her green robes billowing.  "Yes!" she said again, pulling Percy's head down for another kiss.

Harry didn't know why he thought of it – it just seemed right, somehow – but he started to clap.  Hermione and Ron followed his lead, and soon all the Weasleys were giving the young couple a round of heartfelt and enthusiastic applause.  

As Percy beamed at his new fiancée, and she smiled back at him, Harry felt a lump in his throat.  _Voldemort doesn't stand a chance against love this strong, _he thought, and moved forward with the others to congratulate the new couple.

~ end of Chapter 8 ~


	9. Chapter 9 Questions and Answers

Hello, everyone. I apologize for the amount of time between updates. However, a lot has happened since I posted Chapter 8. For one thing, I discovered that I'm pregnant. :) The first trimester has been a bit rough, what with all-day morning sickness, so I haven't felt much like writing lately. I'm two weeks away from the second trimester, however, so hopefully I'll be feeling better soon. (Is it a bad sign that my husband and I are actually considering "Hermione" for a girl?) :P The baby is due January 20, 2005, and I want to try and get this fic finished before then since I'm sure I won't have a lot of time to write after the baby is born. 

Also, my beta-reader went on vacation, so I had to find a new one to beta this chapter. My new beta (thanks, Lexi!) did a great job. Hopefully I can get future chapters up in a more timely fashion. There's not a lot going on in this chapter, for which I apologize - this is an information chapter, not an action one. The next few should be livelier, I promise. 

**Chapter 9 - Questions and Answers**

After the excitement of his birthday and the Ministry elections, the rest of the summer seemed to drag on for Harry. He was impatient to return to Hogwarts and longing to leave the Dursleys - so far, the stalemate had continued; none of the Dursleys had said more than three words to him since the night of his birthday. While this was a pleasant change, Harry sometimes grew weary of feeling like he was wearing his Invisibility Cloak all the time. 

The bright spots in his week were the days when Ron and Hermione came to visit. Neither could come every day (Ron was busy with his job at Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes and Hermione was trying to spend as much time with her parents as she could before term started), but between the two of them they visited fairly often. Ginny sometimes came with Ron, but she was also helping Fred and George with their shop. 

One afternoon, Harry and Ron completed their N.E.W.T. course sign-up sheets and owled them back to Hogwarts. Both of them had signed up for Transfiguration, Charms, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Care of Magical Creatures, and Potions. Harry was relieved to be giving up Divination, Astronomy, and History of Magic, as was Ron. It seemed odd to be signing up for so few classes, but Hermione had assured them that, according to older students, the amount of homework they'd receive in their N.E.W.T. courses made O.W.L. preparation look like a picnic by the lake. 

For the remainder of the summer, Harry spent many lazy afternoons imagining the look on Snape's face when he saw Harry's name on the N.E.W.T. Potions class list. He received a note from Professor McGonagall in late August, telling him to send a list of any needed school supplies to her and she would purchase them as well as his new books. Harry was disappointed at not being able to go himself, but neither did he want to put other witches and wizards at risk for an attack just because they happened to be shopping in Diagon Alley the same day he was. 

McGonagall's note also asked him to be at Mrs. Figg's the following night at eight o'clock, as Dumbledore wanted to meet with him. As he wrote his supplies list, Harry felt a rush of excitement followed by apprehension - finally, he'd be able to get some news.

* * *

"Hello, Harry," Albus Dumbledore said with a smile, standing to greet Harry as he walked into Mrs. Figg's living room. 

"Hi, Professor," Harry said, flopping down on the couch. "Thanks for coming to see me." 

"Not at all," the Headmaster said serenely, smoothing his robes as he sat back down. "We do have quite a bit to discuss." 

"Voldemort," Harry burst out. "What's happening? What has he been doing? Have there been any killings? Are -" 

"Harry, please," Dumbledore chuckled, holding up his hand. "One question at a time; I'm not as young as I once was, you know." Harry showed that he was ready to listen and Dumbledore started. "Now then, Voldemort." His face grew serious as he gazed at Harry over the top of his half-moon spectacles. "As of yet, there have been no killings - but this, I fear, may be the calm before the storm. As you may know, we do have a spy within Voldemort's ranks." 

_ Snape_, Harry thought, but didn't say anything aloud. 

"This spy has reported that Voldemort has not yet formulated any concrete plan of action. He apparently spends much time deep in thought, emerging from his chambers only to oversee the training of new Death Eater recruits." 

"New recruits?" Harry asked, scowling. 

"Unfortunately, yes," Dumbledore said, his frown matching Harry's. "At the present time, there are thirteen new Death Eaters in training." He seemed to hesitate. "It's just as well you should know - two of the new trainees are Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle." 

"But they're not done with school yet!" Harry exclaimed, shocked. 

"Students are free to leave Hogwarts after fifth year should they so desire," Dumbledore said sadly. "Both Vincent and Gregory did rather poorly on their O.W.L.s; it's likely they decided there was nothing to gain by taking N.E.W.T.s. I rather imagine that the fate of their fathers spurred their decision." 

_ Trying to avenge their dear old Dads who're rotting away in Azkaban_, Harry thought bitterly. "What about Malfoy? Did he join too?" Harry asked. 

"No," Dumbledore said, an odd look of relief on his face. "Mr. Malfoy did quite well in his O.W.L. exams. I imagine he'll earn top-grade N.E.W.T.s someday." The Headmaster leaned forward and surveyed him intensely. "Harry, I know you and Draco Malfoy are sworn enemies - but remember this: Draco may still be redeemed." 

"_Him_?" Harry asked incredulously. "He's a _ Malfoy_! Look at his dad - look at his mum! She's Bellatrix Lestrange's sister!" 

"Andromeda Tonks is Narcissa Malfoy's sister, yet she is on the side of good," Dumbledore said quietly. "Do you remember, Harry, when I told you that it is our choices, far more than our abilities, that show what we truly are?" 

Harry nodded, thinking of that long-ago day at the end of second year. 

"It was true then and it is still true now. Our choices, not our abilities -_ or our families _ - determine the path we take. You of all people should know that, considering the Dursleys." Harry squirmed uncomfortably under the Headmaster's piercing gaze. "Listen closely to what I say now: _ Draco has not yet made that choice. _ He may act as though he is at Voldemort's right hand, but I assure you that he can still be redeemed." 

"He's a Slytherin," Harry muttered hotly. "He threatened me at the end of last year - said he'd get revenge - said his father would break out -" 

"I have no doubt he said all those things," Dumbledore said. "Draco was still very much in his father's shadow, and in the shadow of his friends Crabbe and Goyle. This year will be different for him - he will have no father to report to, no friends to account to. Draco, for once, will have to stand on his own two feet and be accountable only to himself. You may find that it changes a person." 

Harry still felt skeptical, despite what Dumbledore said. In his view, the day Malfoy changed sides would be the day Neville Longbottom played for England's Quidditch team. 

"Now, then, Voldemort's plans," Dumbledore continued. "Right now the Order is attempting to act on the offensive. We've placed strong magical wards around the homes of all Muggle-born students, including Miss Granger, as well as around the homes of the Order members. Our spy is constantly on the alert for any hint of Voldemort's future plans." 

"What about Azkaban?" Harry asked. "Who's guarding it now?" 

"Aurors from the Ministry," Dumbledore said, looking troubled. "They all take it in turns. In addition, I have assisted the Ministry in setting up strong anti-escape wards around the prison. Our spy believes that Voldemort is currently formulating a plan to break his imprisoned Death Eaters out of Azkaban, so the guard has been doubled and they are constantly on the alert." 

"Tonks and Shacklebolt are part of the guard?" Harry said, disturbed at the thought of his friends in danger. 

Dumbledore nodded. "Alastor Moody as well. He's offered his services to the Ministry, seeing as how short-handed the Auror Corps is right now." He waited, but Harry didn't venture any more questions. "Anything else, Harry?" 

"Yes," Harry said. "How am I getting back to Hogwarts?" 

"Ah, yes," Dumbledore said. "I am providing you, Mr. and Miss Weasley, and Miss Granger Portkeys to Platform 9 ¾. An Order member will arrive at 4 Privet Drive at ten o'clock on September 1 to escort you." His eyes twinkled as he added, "You may reassure your aunt that they will come to the front door and not through the fireplace." 

"Why Ron, Ginny, and Hermione?" Harry asked, afraid he already knew the answer. 

"A safety precaution," Dumbledore said gravely, sensing Harry's apprehension. "Since they are close to you, we must assume they are targets." 

"Can't they Floo in?" 

"Due to security reasons, Platform 9 and ¾ is not part of the Floo Network. The standard procedure is for Wizarding families to Floo to the Leaky Cauldron and travel to the station from there. However, that plan poses too much of a security risk at the present time." 

Harry bit his lip worriedly. "Will the Hogwarts Express be safe?" he said uneasily. "What if there's an attack on the train?" 

"Not to worry, Harry," Dumbledore said, stroking his long, white beard placidly. "Voldemort does not yet have the resources to launch an attack of that scale; even if he did, rest assured that I have placed wards upon the train myself. He will not be able to touch it. As an additional precaution, several teachers will be riding the Hogwarts Express this year in case trouble does arise." 

Harry's eyes widened at this, and he couldn't help grinning at the thought of what Draco Malfoy would look like when he found out he'd be under the watchful eyes of the teachers and unable to conduct his usual bullying. 

Bullying. Dudley. The Dursleys. Harry suddenly remembered another question he'd been bursting to ask. "Professor, the Dursleys and I had a row the night of my birthday." He told the story of the Dursleys wedding to Dumbledore exactly as it had been told to him. 

"Ah," Dumbledore said quietly, leaning back in his chair. He suddenly looked very old. "Yes, I expected that had much to do with your relatives' animosity toward you." 

"Then it's true? Exactly as he said?" Harry asked. 

Dumbledore seemed to hesitate. "As far as he knows, that's what happened. There was a bit more to the story than either your uncle or your aunt knew." 

"Like what?" Harry asked eagerly. 

"Voldemort had been making threats against your parents for some time before the Dursleys' wedding," Dumbledore said simply. "He had specifically mentioned the wedding in his threats, and your mother had warned Petunia to put the wedding under a Fidelius Charm. Your aunt refused." 

"She didn't want magic to have anything to do with the wedding," Harry guessed, repressing a groan. Those fools - they could have prevented the catastrophe but their stupid prejudices were their own undoing. "Nor did Vernon." 

"Correct. I doubt your aunt even told Vernon Dursley about the threats, so intent was she to shield him from the magical world. Well, as your uncle told you, Death Eaters did indeed attack that day, and your grandparents - Marshall and Rosemary Evans - were killed. But what your aunt and uncle didn't realize is that Lord Voldemort was there as well. He was disguised as a Death Eater and went after your parents. The Dursleys' wedding was the first time your parents narrowly escaped Voldemort." 

Harry's mouth dropped open. "How did they…?" 

"Unbeknownst to Voldemort or the Dursleys, the Order had several Aurors under Invisibility Cloaks in attendance at the wedding. Your mother and the Aurors fought off the Death Eaters while your father dueled with Voldemort. He held him off quite well until the Aurors got word to me. Once I arrived, Voldemort and the Death Eaters retreated." He frowned. "I'm just sorry I was too late to prevent the deaths of your grandparents." 

Harry contemplated all that he'd heard; he too was sorry that his grandparents had been so brutally killed, but at the same time he was proud of his father and mother for fighting so bravely. 

"If there are no other questions…?" Dumbledore inquired, and Harry shook his head. 

"Thank you, Professor." 

"Not at all," Dumbledore said quietly, rising to his feet. "Should you have more questions over the course of the school year, you need only ask and I promise I will give you truthful answers. This year's password to my office is 'Canary Cream.'" 

Harry started in surprise, than laughed. "Do Fred and George know that?" 

"Alas, no. However, I do find the treats rather tasty, and it amuses Fawkes when I molt." He bowed slightly to Harry. "Until September 1st then, Harry."

* * *

On September 1st, Harry was up bright and early cleaning Hedwig's cage for the journey ahead and packing his trunk. He was tucking the last of his socks away when there was a timid knock at his door. "Come in," Harry called, shutting his trunk and locking it securely. 

Aunt Petunia entered, glancing over her shoulder nervously. "You're leaving today?" she asked quietly. 

"Yes," Harry answered, struggling to contain a smile of glee and not quite succeeding. "Ten o'clock." 

"Is someone coming to get you?" she inquired, her pale eyes widening in panic. 

"Yes, someone from my school, I'd imagine," Harry said carelessly. His aunt was no doubt remembering the Ton-Tongue Toffee. "Don't worry; they won't come in the house. I'll meet them at the front door." 

She relaxed visibly. "It's just as well that Vernon has already left," she muttered. Her hands fluttered around her chest as though she didn't know what to do with them. "Do you… ah… need food for the trip?" 

Harry's eyes narrowed and his arms crossed in front of his chest. "Aunt Petunia, what's going on?" 

"What… what do you mean?" she said defensively. 

"You offered me food when I got here this summer. You gave me a birthday gift. You didn't say anything when my friends came. Now you want to give me food for the train ride. What's going on? Why are you treating me like this?" Harry demanded. His curiosity had finally gotten the best of him. 

"Nothing is…'going on,'" Aunt Petunia protested, her eyes darting around the room fearfully "What are you complaining about? I'm not treating you badly!" 

"That's the thing," Harry retorted, keeping his gaze fixed on her. "You have always treated me badly - until this summer. Why the change? Why now? I've had too many people treat me nicely with the sole intention of getting something from me." Briefly, he thought of Rita Skeeter and her smarmy attempts to interview him, the many girls who'd asked him to the Yule Ball just because he was a school champion and they wanted to share the glory, and Ludo Bagman's attempts to help him cheat just so he - Ludo - could win a bet. Harry took a step toward his aunt. "So what do you want?" 

Petunia paled and backed away. She bumped up against the wall, looked around wildly, and finally, staring at her shoes, muttered, "I want to be safe." 

"Excuse me?" Harry said, even though he'd heard her perfectly. "What was that?" 

"I said I want to be safe. I want us - me, Dudley, and Vernon - protected from… him. From - Lord Voldemort. You're the only one who can do that." 

"Are you aware, Aunt Petunia," Harry said quietly, "that the only reason you_ are _ safe while I'm here is because of magic? Ancient magic?" 

She trembled, but said stoutly, "I don't care. Whatever keeps my family safe." 

He looked at her keenly. "Funny, you didn't seem to think that at your wedding." 

Aunt Petunia looked as though she'd been slapped. "What do you mean?" she whispered. 

"I know for a fact that my mother advised you to put your wedding under a protective spell, and you refused," Harry answered calmly. 

"And what makes you think I didn't realize my mistake, Potter?" Aunt Petunia hissed viciously, her eyes narrowing in anger. "After what happened to my parents, I will use any means necessary to protect my family - and that includes magic." 

"And what makes_ you_ think," Harry returned, "I would refuse to protect my family, despite the way you've treated me? I'm a better man then that, you know." 

"But you're of age next year," Aunt Petunia said, avoiding his question. "You can leave, and what will happen to us?" 

"Vernon will throw a party, I expect," Harry said dryly. "The fact is, I don't know. I don't know if the magic will continue to protect me - protect us - after I'm seventeen. It's something I'll have to ask Professor Dumbledore." 

"And what if the protection continues after you become an adult? Will you leave anyway?" Petunia demanded. 

Yes! Harry was prepared to shout - it was on the tip of his tongue - but - "I don't know," he heard himself say instead. "It depends on how big the threat is. For all I know, Voldemort could be defeated this year." 

She laughed scathingly. "Oh? And I supposed that_ you _ think that _you'll_ be the one to defeat him, too?" 

He almost blurted out the truth right then and there -_ yes, actually, I'm the only one who can_ - but he held his tongue. All he needed was for his aunt and uncle to believe that he was even _more _of a freak than they already thought him. 

"I don't know what's going to happen, Aunt Petunia, but I promise you this - I will not leave if it means your family will become vulnerable to Voldemort." Harry held her gaze even as he felt his own dream of leaving the Dursleys and buying his own place slipping away. He hated Privet Drive; he wanted to leave more than_ anything_ - but he couldn't abandon the only family he had left, even if they didn't like him. He wasn't a coward, like Peter Pettigrew, who had abandoned one of the closest things to family he had. 

Aunt Petunia held his gaze for a long minute. Then, satisfied, she nodded briskly and left the room without another word. Harry, more somber now, double-checked the bedroom to make sure he hadn't left anything behind - he hadn't. 

He checked his watch - a quarter to ten - and decided to bring his things down to the entryway in preparation for whoever would be coming to pick him up. He had just dragged his trunk down the stairs when the doorbell rang. 

_Whoever it is, they're early_, Harry thought as he carefully set Hedwig's cage on top of his trunk and moved to open the door. 

"YOU!" he exclaimed at the person standing on the doorstep. 

"Yes, me," drawled the forbidding form of Severus Snape. "Perhaps you were expecting Professor Dumbledore? Believe me, Potter, he is far too busy to play nursemaid to the likes of you." 

"He just said an Order member - I assumed Tonks or Lupin -" Harry mumbled, feeling slightly betrayed. Had Dumbledore known it would be Snape who came to fetch him? Why hadn't he said anything? 

"Nymphadora Tonks was scheduled to collect you, but alas, she was held up at Azkaban. I was sent instead, much to my _incalculable_ sorrow," Snape sneered, stepping through the doorway and into 4 Privet Drive. "You have your things, I assume? I don't like to be kept waiting." 

Harry wordlessly thumbed at his trunk and Hedwig. Hedwig's feathers were ruffled and her beady eyes seemed to gaze at Snape distrustfully. _ That's my owl_, Harry thought wryly. 

There was a shuffling noise from the lounge doorway, and Harry turned to see Dudley trundling from the lounge to the kitchen, no doubt on his way to get a midmorning snack - after all, it'd been nearly an hour since his breakfast. Dudley stopped short when he beheld the imposing visage of the Potions master. "Who are you?" he blurted. 

Snape glanced from Harry to Dudley, no doubt wondering if and how the two were remotely related. "Professor Severus Snape, Potions Master at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry," he intoned in the same menacing voice Harry had heard him use during his first Potions class. "And you are…?" 

"D-Dudley D-Dursley," Dudley squeaked, his porcine face noticeably paling. 

"What was that? Speak up, boy! I can't understand a word you're saying," Snape barked. 

"D-Dudley D-Dursley," Dudley repeated, looking terrified. 

"Well, D-Dudley," Snape mocked in cold, measuring tones, "if you'll kindly heave your considerable bulk out of the room, Potter and I will be leaving." 

"Leave him alone, Severus," a quiet voice said from the kitchen. Harry's mouth dropped open as he beheld Aunt Petunia standing in the doorway, clutching a wooden cooking spoon in her hand. Dudley yelped in relief and fled into the kitchen as fast as his fat body could take him. 

Snape raised a thin eyebrow and, to Harry's utter amazement, smiled. True, the smile was rather condescending and sardonic, but Harry couldn't recall a single time he'd seen the Potions master's face wear anything other than a frown, scowl, or sneer. "Petunia," Snape said, bowling slightly. "How…_ lovely _ to see you again." 

Aunt Petunia looked at Harry, her face impassive as stone. "How do you know him?" 

"He's my teacher. At school," Harry said, feeling dazed. "How do_ you_ know him?" 

"Never mind, Potter," Snape snapped, whirling to face him. "It's time we were leaving. The Portkey will activate in a few minutes." He reached into the pocket of his robes and pulled out a tarnished silver teaspoon and a brass pocketwatch. "Get your things. We don't have all day." 

Still stunned speechless, Harry rolled his trunk and carried Hedwig's cage over to Snape. Awkwardly, he managed to keep a hold of both his trunk and owl while still touching the teaspoon. 

"Ten seconds," Snape muttered, studying the pocketwatch. "Nine… eight… seven… six… five… four…" 

"Have a good year, Harry," Aunt Petunia said, almost inaudibly, as she turned back toward the kitchen. 

"… three… two… one," Snape finished, and Harry felt the familiar jerk behind his navel. 4 Privet Drive began to spin out of focus, and seconds later they arrived with an awkward BUMP onto Platform 9 and ¾. 

end of Chapter 9 


	10. Chapter 10 Train of Thought

**Author's notes: Sorry for the long delay between chapters! On January 13, 2005, I had a baby girl -Elanor Mary. You can see a picture of her at my homepage (see my profile). My pregnancy was uneventful, but tiring, and motherhood has since kept me quite busy! I'll try to get Chapter 11 out in a more timely fashion!** ****

Chapter 10 - Train of Thought 

Harry shook his hair out of his eyes, waiting for the dizziness that always accompanied Portkey travel to recede. As his eyes cleared, he saw Snape's cloak billowing as he strode further down the platform, and he heard a familiar voice call, "Harry! Harry!" Seconds later, Hermione Granger was at his side, helping him to his feet.

"You came with _Snape___?" she said in a horrified whisper, glancing back to make sure she wasn't within the Potion Master's earshot. 

"Yeah - Tonks couldn't make it at the last minute, he said," Harry replied, brushing the dust from the platform off his clothing. He peered down the platform and saw Snape conversing with Professor McGonagall. "You came with McGonagall, then?"

Hermione's face turned pink. "She came to my house half an hour early just so she could meet my parents."

Harry grinned. "I bet she wanted to tell them what a great student you are."

Hermione's blush deepened. "Well… yes," she admitted bashfully. "So it went all right with the Dursleys? When Snape came to fetch you, I mean?"

"I'll tell you later," Harry muttered as he noticed McGonagall striding toward them out of the corner of his eye. 

"Potter, Granger, come along," she said briskly. "It's time you boarded the train. The Weasleys should be arriving shortly. I'll direct them to your compartment when they arrive."

"Already?" Harry asked, disappointed. He'd hoped to linger on the platform as other students arrived - he'd never gotten there early enough to do so.

"You're safer on the train," McGonagall said, glancing over her shoulder distrustfully as though she expected to see a Death Eater lurking in the shadows. "Go on, now, I'll see to your luggage."

Reluctantly, Harry boarded the bright scarlet train, Hermione following right behind, and went to their usual compartment. Distractedly, Hermione glanced down the empty corridor. "I wonder if I should go wait in the prefect's compartment…" she murmured.

"You don't have to go until the train leaves," Harry objected. "At least wait until Neville or someone comes; if you go then Ron and Ginny will too." Earlier in the summer, Ginny had gotten a prefect's badge along with her Hogwarts letter, sending Mrs. Weasley into spasms of delight. "I don't want to sit here by myself."

"Oh, all right," Hermione relented. Harry knelt on the red plush seat and pushed the window open, leaning out to crane his head up and down the platform. "Harry, I don't think you should…"

"I'm just looking," Harry said, ignoring her protest. He grinned as he saw four redheads and assorted luggage appear on the platform with a loud THUMP.

"Argh! Ginny, geroff!" Ron complained loudly, untangling himself from his little sister.

"I'm trying! Your feet are too big!" she snapped, getting to her feet and brushing dust from her school robes.

"Now, you two, settle down," Mrs. Weasley admonished. Harry noticed she was wearing a very nice traveling cloak, much nicer than any he'd seen her wear. Mr. Weasley's robes were rather smart, too. He grinned; it was about time Mr. Weasley got a decent salary from the Ministry. 

"Ron! Ginny!" he yelled, managing to wedge one arm out of the window. He waved wildly as he shouted. "Over here!"

Ron spotted him and his eyes brightened. "Oy, Harry!" he shouted in reply. "We'll come aboard in a second!"

Harry watched as both Mr. and Mrs. Weasley kissed their children and wished them a pleasant term. Ginny waved merrily at Harry as she and Ron boarded the train, but Mr. and Mrs. Weasley hurried down the platform to where Harry's head was sticking out of the train window.

"All right, Harry?" Mr. Weasley said cheerfully. "Ready for another term?"

"Oh, yeah," Harry grinned.

"Has Hermione already arrived?" Mrs. Weasley asked.

"Yeah, she's here too."

Mrs. Weasley sniffed. "Sixth year for you and Ron already… it seems like just yesterday we were showing you how to get onto the platform! And now we've only brought two, when last year it was four…" She pulled a large, flowered handkerchief out of the pocket of her robes and dabbed at her eyes.

"Now, Molly…" Mr. Weasley patted her back reassuringly. He smiled at Harry. "You let us know if you need anything, all right? We'll see you at Christmas."

"Thanks, Mr. Weasley." Harry supposed he'd actually get to spend Christmas at the Burrow this year, and he was looking forward to it; he'd never spent Christmas at a Wizarding home before (not counting Grimmauld Place, which wasn't really a home - more like a dungeon). 

"Be careful, and remember to go straight to Dumbledore if anything… strange… happens," Mrs. Weasley cautioned. "Mind your teachers, and study hard - NEWTs are just around the corner, you know…"

"Molly, that's enough," Mr. Weasley said in a gentle but exasperated tone. "We should be going."

"All right… have a good term, Harry…" Mrs. Weasley was still sniffing suspiciously into her handkerchief as Mr. Weasley led her away.

"She's mental," Ron muttered audibly as Harry pulled himself back inside the compartment. 

Ginny giggled. "Poor Mum… she can't even talk about Percy and Penelope anymore without crying. 'My _baby's_ getting _married_... it seems like just _yesterday_ he was _born_…'" she said in a spot-on imitation of Mrs. Weasley.

Harry and Ron sniggered; Hermione, however, wore a sympathetic smile. "My mum was crying last night when she was helping me pack my trunk… she said it seemed like I'd just come home and now I'd be going again." She sighed, her smile fading. "The time has gone fast, hasn't it? Only two more years left at Hogwarts…"

Harry squirmed uncomfortably; he didn't like thinking about the fact that their school days might eventually end, that their day-to-day friendship might be broken up as they went their separate ways. Hogwarts was the only home he'd ever known... and now he had more years behind him than he did ahead.

"Well, I plan to make the most of the time we have left," Ron said brightly. A mischievous grin, not unlike Fred and George's usual expressions, spread across his freckled face. "For one thing, I can finally give back to Draco Malfoy some of what he's dished out to us."

"Ron, I don't know if that's a good idea," Hermione said nervously. "House unity, remember?"

"Oh, come on, Hermione!" Ron protested. "For the first time in my _life_, I can finally one-up him. My dad's head of MLE and his dad's in _prison_! Besides, he's a slimy git who's treated us like dirt for five years; he _deserves_ to get the same treatment back! Right, Harry?"

Harry didn't answer right away. Dumbledore's admonition of "Draco has not yet made that choice" was echoing in his head. 

On the one hand, Ron was right; the tables had finally turned and Draco's family was disgraced, whereas the Weasleys had finally come into their own. On the other hand… Harry remembered how he'd felt when he'd seen his father act like a royal git in Snape's Penseive memory. It hadn't been right, even if Snape was a slimy, greasy Slytherin with connections to Dark magic. His father had acted like nothing more than a bully - in fact, his father had acted like _Dudley_. And it would be easy for him, Harry, to act the same way towards Draco. Too easy.

"I think Hermione's right, Ron," Harry said slowly. "We'd be sinking to his level. We're better than that, don't you think?"

"Well… I…" Ron fumbled, his face flushed. "I'm not taking any of his insults this year," he said finally. "He's not going to abuse my family and get away with it."

"Defending yourself is one thing," Harry said, avoiding his friend's disbelieving gaze. "Deliberately going after him is another. I'm not saying you have to be a wimp; I'm just saying that we don't need to act like he does and start anything, okay?" 

"Remember, Ron, you're a _prefect_," Hermione added. 

"But also remember that you have access to the finest practical joke products on the market," Ginny spoke up, her brown eyes glinting. "I'm sure Fred and George won't mind donating some of their new products to a very good cause - paying Malfoy back for any family insults, for example."

"Very true, Ginny," Ron agreed, the devilish light back in his eyes. "I wonder if I could slip a Canary Cream to him somehow…"

"Ginny, _you're_ a prefect too!" Hermione said, shocked.

Ginny brushed the objections aside with a wave of her hand. "Being a prefect doesn't mean I stop being Ginny Weasley, Hermione. Ron's right - there's no reason we have to sit passively while Malfoy throws insults at us. Besides, it's not like we can follow proper channels. As prefects, we can only dock points from Gryffindors, and as long as Snape is head of Slytherin, there's no use complaining to Malfoy's Head of House - you know Snape lets him get away with everything."

"Snape would probably dock _us_ points for reporting his pet Malfoy," Ron said darkly.

"So we need to use - er - other methods for retaliation," Ginny finished.

"Sounds fair," Harry said cautiously, letting himself imagine 'Draco Malfoy, the amazing bouncing canary' for a moment. "But remember what I said about sinking to his level - try to keep the 'your dad's in prison' insults to a minimum."

Ron grunted unhappily but nodded. "All right. I'll try. He'd just better watch his mouth this year, that's all."

"At least we don't have to worry about N.E.W.T.s at the end of this year," Hermione said brightly. "I mean, we'll still have to study for them, of course, but it's a relief to know that the exams are still over a year away."

"Speak for yourself," Ginny muttered. "After watching you three go through O.W.L. preparation last year, I'm scared to death."

"Don't worry, Ginny, we'll help," Hermione said kindly. "I kept all my notes. And the exams really aren't that bad, they don't cover anything we haven't learned…"

"The Potions O.W.L. was actually a lot easier than the preps we did in Snape's class," Harry told her. "It's a lot easier to concentrate when he's not hovering over you."

Ginny shrugged. "I've never had a problem in Potions. Snape leaves me alone for the most part."

"Lucky you," Ron said darkly. "Though I have a feeling that that's another bit of payback Malfoy's going to get this year - it sounds like the new Defense teacher doesn't like Slytherins much at all."

"I'm sure she'll conduct herself professionally," Hermione said primly. "Dumbledore wouldn't have hired her if he didn't think she could."

"I'm not too sure about that, considering how hard it's been to find a decent DADA professor," Harry said. "Frankly, I don't care how she treats the Slytherins as long as we actually learn some useful defensive skills this year." Absently, he fingered his wand, which was concealed in his robe pocket. "I'm glad we'll still have the D.A. so we can get more practice outside of class." 

"If she's as good as Bill says she is, we'll learn loads," Ginny said confidently. "Between a decent DADA teacher and the D.A., I know I don't have to worry about my Defense O.W.L." She gulped, her face paling. "Just the rest of them…"

A loud _CRASH_ in the corridor outside their compartment interrupted their conversation. "Whoops! Careful! Up you go, Longbottom!" floated the cheery voice of Professor Sprout. 

Harry jumped up and opened the compartment door in time to see Neville, red-faced, clutching his toad and brushing dust off his robes. "Hi, Harry!" his fellow Gryffindor said, his round face brightening. 

"Hi, Neville… you all right?" Harry asked, suppressing a grin.

"I'm fine. Trevor tried to run off again… and I tripped over my robes trying to catch him." Neville scowled at his toad. "I wish he'd stay put for just one train ride."

"Why don't you get a cage for him?" Hermione, who'd come to the door of the compartment, asked.

"I've tried, but he always manages to escape from them anyway, no matter how many spells Gran uses. The man at the Magical Menagerie said some wizarding toads can do that, and Trevor's one of them." Neville rolled his eyes. "Lucky me."

"Well, c'mon in," Harry said, pulling Neville inside the compartment. "We were just talking about the new Defense teacher."

"Professor Jones?" Neville settled himself next to Ginny. "Gran says she was a Head Girl at Hogwarts."

"She was Head Girl at the same time Bill was Head Boy," Ron told him. "Does your gran know her?"

"She's been friends with the Joneses for _years_," Neville said importantly. "My grandfather used to work with Hestia Jones' father at the Ministry. She says that Professor Jones is going to be a big improvement over the past DADA teachers - except for Professor Lupin, of course," he added hastily, catching Harry's furious glance. 

"Well, it wouldn't take much to be better than Lockhart or Umbridge," Ron snorted. "Though Quirrell wasn't half-bad once you got past his stuttering."

"And the fact that he had Voldemort attached to his head," Harry said dryly.

"There is that," Ron agreed, and they laughed.

Hermione suddenly jumped out of her seat, scrambling for her wand. "Oh, dear, it's five to eleven!" she fretted. "We have to get to the prefect compartment!"

"Calm down, Hermione," Ginny said evenly. "They won't start without us."

"I'll walk down there with you," Harry said, getting to his feet. "Coming, Neville?"

"No, you go ahead," Neville said, taking a book out of his bag. The book, Harry noticed, was _Magical Plants and Their Defensive Uses_. "I think I'll just stay here and read a while."

Harry walked with his friends to the other end of the train, saying hello to some familiar faces on the way - Dean Thomas, Seamus Finnigan, and Colin Creevey. On his way back to his compartment, Harry stopped at the loo. He'd just exited the tiny bathroom and pulled the door shut when he heard, "Hello… _Potter_."

Harry instantly recognized the sneering drawl. "Hello, Malfoy," he said flatly, turning around. Draco seemed taller than usual - perhaps he'd also grown over the summer, or perhaps he just looked taller without Goyle and Crabbe hulking around him. His pale grey eyes glittered like ice, and his white-blond hair was, as always, sleekly arrayed and slicked back.

Not wishing to start his school year off with a confrontation on the train, Harry tried to move down the corridor. Draco, however, wouldn't budge. "Excuse me," Harry said neutrally, struggling to quell the rising ire within him.

"Not so fast, Potter," Draco said, his voice low and menacing. "We have some unfinished business to take care of."

"And what would that be?" Harry retorted, his fingers itching to grab his wand and fire off a good Jellylegs hex. However, he kept his fists clenched at his side.

Draco's eyes flashed. "You put my father in Azkaban, Potter."

"Your father put himself in Azkaban," Harry said, attempting to push past Draco. Malfoy shoved him back. "Hey!" 

"We're not finished," Malfoy snarled, his face inches from Harry's. 

"You'd better watch it, Malfoy," Harry warned. "You don't have your bodyguards around anymore."

"I don't _need_ them." Draco seized Harry's shirt in his hands and shoved him against the wall with surprising strength. Harry responded automatically, kneeing Draco in the stomach as hard as he could and whipping out his wand as Draco let go of his shirt and stumbled back against the corridor wall. 

"I'm warning you, Malfoy," Harry said through clenched teeth. "Touch me again and I'll - "

"What's going on here?" 

Harry froze at the sound of Snape's cold drawl. The situation looked bad - him with his wand out, Draco doubled up in pain and hunched against the wall. 

"Malfoy attacked me, sir," he said, knowing Snape wouldn't believe a word of it. "I was just defending myself."

"Oh, really?" Snape arched a thin eyebrow. "Yes, Potter, I can see you're quite the victim here." 

"He's telling the truth, Snape." Harry nearly jumped in surprise as the door the girls' loo opened and a tall witch, one he'd never seen before, stepped out. She had cinnamon-colored skin with hair and eyes as dark as onyx. "I heard everything."

Snape's eyes narrowed. "And why, _Professor_ Jones, did you not intervene during Mr. Malfoy's alleged attack?" he said frostily, a slight sneer creeping into his voice.

Professor Jones gave the Potions Master such a blistering glare that Harry expected flames to come shooting out of her eyeballs. "Well, _Professor_ Snape, I was somewhat indisposed, being in the loo and all." She turned her glare to Malfoy, who cringed. "Next time, Mr. Malfoy, you might want to make certain both loos are empty before picking a fight."

"He started it," Draco muttered sullenly.

"He did _not_ start it," Professor Jones said sharply. "Pretend you're not a Slytherin for five minutes and tell the truth."

Harry couldn't believe what he was hearing; he'd never heard such a pointed insult from a professor towards a Hogwarts House. Even Snape's insults against Gryffindor were much more veiled. Not to mention that the way Professor Jones was looking at Draco was just… creepy. It reminded him of something, but he couldn't think of what.

Snape's jaw was clenched; Harry could almost hear his teeth grinding. "Get back to your compartments, both of you," he fairly growled. "And if I hear of any more disturbances, you'll both be in detention the minute we arrive at Hogwarts."

"But I - " Draco began.

"Professor, he - " Harry tried to protest.

"_Now_!" Snape barked.

Harry dared not argue anymore; he scurried through the door and hurried back to his compartment. Neville looked up from his book as Harry slid the door shut. "There you are; I was wondering what was taking you so long."

"I stopped at the loo," Harry said, not wanting to tell the whole story about his encounter with Malfoy until Ron, Hermione, and Ginny returned. 

"Oh," Neville said cheerfully. He closed his book and took a bag of Bertie Bott's Every-Flavor Beans out of his pocket. "Want one?" he asked, proffering the bag.

Harry popped a white bean into his mouth - which, thankfully, turned out to be marshmallow and not candle wax - and chewed thoughtfully as he listened to Neville's chatter about the plants he'd been reading about in _Magical Plants and Their Defensive Uses_. 

It wasn't until Neville said something about a plant called Centaur's Bane (a flower that gave centaurs a nasty rash akin to poison ivy) that Harry suddenly realized where he'd seen the look on Professor Jones' face before. The glare she'd given Draco remarkably similar to an expression he'd seen on Umbridge's face - when Dumbledore had introduced Firenze as the new Divination teacher. It was a look of pure loathing, bordering on hatred. 

Harry resolved to talk to Dumbledore about it once they arrived at Hogwarts. Maybe Dumbledore thought that Professor Jones could reign in her attitude about Slytherins, but Harry wasn't so sure.

end of Chapter 10


End file.
